


Expansion

by BananaCandy



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, I mean not actually but Dixon's his spirit animal, JLP is the most wonderful man in the galaxy, Jean-Luc Picard is Dixon Hill, M/M, Q hasn't ever been aboard the Enterprise (and isn't known to Starfleet at all), Romance (eventually), Trigger warnings for mental health problems and their resulting trauma, absolutely not hypernovas, happy endings (probably), nearly everyone in this is backgrounded although I love them all, psychological strain, some major angst, someone hug Q good christ
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-03-27 06:31:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13875132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaCandy/pseuds/BananaCandy
Summary: “Q, I don’t know you,” Picard began, and the man choked out the bitterest laugh he’d ever had the displeasure of hearing.“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure – I’ve been contemplating this for nineteen thousand years, and you’re the first one to ever figure it out. In a race of omniscient entities, that’s fairly damned impressive.”On a regular mission throughout the outer reaches of the Alpha quadrant, the crew of theEnterprisecome across the most astonishing being they've ever encountered - but he's really not in the mood to bedazzle them, nor has he been for countless generations. In fact, he's not particularly in the mood to exist at all.(Alternate Universe wherein everything is functionally identical, but Q never encountered Starfleet in any form. Slow burn Qcard).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> FUCK ME GUYS IT'S BEEN AGES SINCE I'VE POSTED QCARD SHIT. I am beyond delighted to be back at it! 
> 
> This was inspired by my sister's exasperated response of "look, Holly, everyone's dying and shit's going down" when I asked her for a fiction prompt several days ago. I've adapted it, of course, but thanks nevertheless to her. xD
> 
> This will be a triple-chapter effort, folks, which is highly uncharacteristic for me as I'm a oneshot wonder, and was intending for this to fit that pattern. It rather ran away with itself, but I imagine it'll be better for it. I'll update this at least weekly, though probably far sooner. Do let me know what you think of the premise/overall contents if you'd like to - this tale is rather uncovered ground for me, so I'd like to make sure I'm doing it sufficient justice. Cheers petals <3

Bordered in matte charcoal, swirled with majestic purples, rich blues and iced teals, even the entity had to admit the stellar phenomena was aesthetically pleasing. Millions of years of spatial evolution, metaphysically edited, strewn with rewritten dioramas of the laws of physics, dotted with multiple dimensional pockets and constructed deliberately to be as misleading as possible, both visually and scientifically, it was a marvel unparalleled across the entire universe. Discovery of its true form, although inconceivable, would evolve the understanding of every civilised race for a minimum of fifteen millennia hence, sending unchartered shockwaves across the astrophysical communities of several quadrants.

It had taken him a grand total of sixty-four minutes to form. The entity sighed deeply, blowing inadvertent dust through his creation – it was all so monumentally _pointless._ His fingers rubbed dully together; a soft click, and he was seated, a glass of Risan port in one hand, a fine cigar in the other as he made some minor readjustments to his work. Satisfied, he breathed quietly, trying to prepare himself to actually _use_ the phenomena for its intended purpose. 

If he’d crafted it properly – and he was almost entirely certain that he had – then using it was a rather tantamount decision. _Life and death,_ in fact, one could sardonically postulate. Weariness crept across simulated skin: he didn’t quite understand precisely what he was waiting for. His form was as human as a faux-deity’s could ever be – a desperately simple race to annihilate, and one that could appreciate the basic hedonistic nature of alcohol and tobacco – and his plan was fully ready to be implemented. His mindset most certainly hadn’t altered; tedium screeched a discordant symphony in his unreal veins and eternal mind, the desperate weight of loneliness crushing his essence to meaningless powder. No, he was, ironically, dead set on his course of action. He wondered, with detached absence, what pain felt like – comprehensive, he imagined, what with the fact that success would mean his molecules being stripped to ash.

It was a mark of his all-consuming depression that such thoughts only inspired him further. He sipped the bitter liqueur as the astral impossibility silently awaited its function, blurring somewhat under his dull, watery gaze. Its – and his – time would come, and soon.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

It was a reasonably quiet mid-afternoon onboard the starship Enterprise, its Captain and crew blissfully unaware of the madness that lay eight-three light years southwest of them. 

Their routine trip to map a relatively unchartered region of the Alpha quadrant, was, however, was about to become an awful lot more bizarre than it had any real right to.

“Captain Picard,” remarked the pale android at the helm, spinning in his seat, “there is a hypernova up ahead.”

The man in question glanced up, bewildered.

“There was no information given regarding such phenomena anywhere in this region,” he answered. “You’re certain of this, Mister Data?” 

“Yes sir,” Data said, “although indeed, there was not.”

Picard exchanged looks with his First Officer, who unsurprisingly couldn’t offer any further insight.

“Investigate away, proceed with caution. I don’t need to tell you of all people that the _Enterprise_ would have considerable difficulty if we were to stray too near.” Data nodded at the instruction, returning to the console, plugging in commands lightning-fast. It beeped ominously at him, and he quirked a brow.

“Lieutenant Worf, I need a long-range sensor scan. Send the results to the operations console.”

The Klingon at the rear of the bridge responded with a dutiful, “aye, Commander”, setting up the scan. Several minutes and a brief analysis later, Data once more spun his chair around, gazing between the curious command duo.

“Sirs,” he announced blankly, “there appears to be a _man_ on the northern crest of the hypernova.”

Picard blinked, processing that for a long moment.

“A _man?_ ” He repeated, at the android’s side in a moment, a hand upon his shoulder in paternal concern. “Not a ship?”

“We are not registering any form of vessel – just a singular lifeform. I will run checks, as that is functionally impossible."

“Data,” Riker piped up, “are you feeling alright?”

“Yes Commander,” Data replied, nonplussed. “Allow me to magnify…”

Sure enough, as the screen zoomed in infinitesimally, on an impossible lounge chair on the edge of an impossible spatial phenomena sat an impossible man in a white robe, staring unblinkingly forwards.

“What the _hell?_ ” Riker breathed, appearing on the unoccupied side of his colleague. “But that’s…”

“Impossible, Commander? Quite,” Data finished. “ _Fascinating…_ ”

“Counsellor Troi,” Picard murmured, turning to his half-Betazoid crewmate in astonishment, “can you feel -”

“He has an emotional spectrum, Captain, yes,” she explained softly, “but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s real.”

Picard nodded, at a complete loss.

“What does he _appear_ to be?”

She hesitated, the entire bridge hanging on her response.

“Human, sir.”

Picard gaped, astonished, swallowing down his uncertainty in favour of professionalism.

“Data, theorise: Is there anything onboard, or in the locality, that could cause such a comprehensive hallucinatory effect, in synthetic and organic alike, that may also affect the operational systems of this ship?”

The android spent several seconds tearing apart the question internally, before staring up at the Frenchman.

“No, sir.”

Picard grimaced – it wasn’t as though he hadn’t expected that very response, but the confirmation was nevertheless infuriating.

“Do you have any theories at all, however outlandish?”

“His ship's cloaking device could be malfunctioning,” Riker chimed in, his concern evident. 

“It would explain his stationary position, and his continued biological function,” Picard agreed, glancing down. “Data -”

“An intriguing idea, Commander,” the android muttered, “complicated by a unique premise that you admittedly could not have possibly foreseen – he does not _have_ a ship.”

“ _What?_ ” Riker was entirely at sea. “How can he not have a ship?! I thought you said -”

“It is true, Commander, Captain – there are no signs whatsoever of any form of vessel, generally recognisable or otherwise. We have verified this fact three times," Worf commented gruffly. 

Riker and Picard had spent almost forty-five years in Starfleet between them, and never had either of them been so vexed.

“Data, have you run diagnostics -”

“Several times, sir.”

“So we can’t even _hail_ him?” Riker’s exasperation was absolute.

“Nothing to hail, Commander,” Worf pointed out again.

It was incredibly infrequent that Riker turned to his superior officer for complete guidance, but as he did so, Picard sighed, turning to his staff at large.

“Suggestions?” He pitched.

The bridge remained entirely silent for an uncomfortably long instance.

“I have no idea, Captain,” Deanna confessed eventually, “but we must do _something_ – he is deeply unhappy.”

“Well, I should imagine he is,” the Frenchman assented dryly. “Must be rather cold out.”

Riker’s grin was accompanied by a small head shake, and Picard’s gaze strove once more to the lone figure, somehow compelled to assist him.

“Right then,” he decided, “Mister Data, get us within noticeable r -”

The sentence remained woefully incomplete as the ship jerked violently, spinning madly forwards at warp seven, knocking Captain, First Officer and Security Chief indiscriminately aside with painful ease. The noise of their shift was almighty, the protesting engines screeching their irritation at the lack of adequate warning.

“ _What the hell is going on?!_ ” Picard roared over the cacophony, barely managing to cling to the navigation console in an attempt to prevent himself being catapulted further away. “Commander La Forge, _explain!_ ”

 _“I’m as lost as you, Captain!”_ Geordi called over the comms, frantic. _“According to our consoles, we aren’t actually at warp!”_

“What in god’s name is _this_ , then?! Data, information – _now!_ ”

“Systems inoperable, Captain – we are locked out!” His second officer reported, infuriatingly calm. “We are being moved independently!”

 _“By what?!”_ Riker yelled, gripping onto Deanna’s arm for dear life as he crouched awkwardly before the Captain’s seat.

The ship stopped abruptly with a final insulting shunt. Riker squeezed his former lover’s knee in gratitude, finally able to climb into his own seat; he gasped up at the screen as he did so.

“Captain!”

Picard scrambled upright, aghast. The impossible man was now dead centre of the monitor, seemingly only several feet from them, the hand he held out in perfect stillness clutching an ablaze cigar. He snarled, very obviously unamused.

“ _What,_ precisely,” he spat, somehow audible through both a vacuum and metres of quintuple-reinforced metal and exoglass, “are you imbeciles _staring at?!_ ”

 _“What?!”_ Riker cried. “Data, where the hell are we?!”

The Captain faced the furious absurdity of an individual with his own personal thunder, attempting to regain some semblance of dignity by straightening his uniform and clearing his throat.

“Commander, we are at the precise centre of the hypernova.” Even Data looked somewhat stunned at that information. 

The man on the screen scoffed darkly.

 _“Wrong,”_ he snapped. “This is no hypernova, android, let me assure you – but it _can_ and _will_ rend your ship and its occupants to atoms if my hand moves so much as a nanometre.”

He leaned forwards, apparently practised in intimidation, his glare dripping poison.

“This cigar has been the _one_ glimmer on an otherwise hundred-millennia horizon of utter _dismay_ , frankly, so you’ve got thirty seconds before I continue it. _Make them count!”_

Picard faced down the man with customary bravery, unease coiling through his every nerve – he needed answers, or at least _something_ tangible that provided any manner of explanation. 

“My name is Jean-Luc Picard,” he began quickly, “Captain of this vessel. We -”

“Really? Two hundred and eighty-three milliseconds on _that?_ ” His incredulity held no lightness. “This is why I _despise_ mortals. Twenty-seven and a quarter seconds – HURRY UP!”

The bridge shuddered perilously, and Picard decided immediately that whoever this being was, however he was doing that, he was perhaps not to be easily trifled with. He would never be beseeched, intimidated, but towing the line may be briefly wise.

_Information, Jean-Luc. Gather information. Know thine enemy._

“I’ll be quick, then,” he adhered solemnly. “What’s your name?”

“Q,” the man growled.

“Q, we were simply in this sector – we had no wish to disturb whatever pursuits you were engaged in -”

“ _Shut up_ – ask what you need to,” Q sneered. “Twenty-four seconds, human.”

There wasn’t, quite literally, a second to waste on shock.

“You created this phenomena?”

“Obviously.” Absolute sarcasm. Nothing deduced.

“How are we surviving it?”

“Me.” Was that growl _proud?_

“How did we get here?”

“Me.” Oh, it _was. Take note, Jean-Luc._

“What _are_ you?” The biggest of all questions, surely.

“Beyond your comprehension, I can promise you.” _Insufferably vague. Conjunction, perhaps, rather than a solo effort? Also, pride dipped…_

“Try me,” he challenged.

Was that the tiniest spark of intrigue?

“If I told you I was a god, would you believe me?”

 _Politician? Religious icon of his homeworld? Access to the best technology available, either way. *He* certainly believes it._

“At this point, possibly. I don’t have a better explanation as yet.”

Q leaned forwards, expression disturbingly neutral.

“ _Believe it,_ Captain. Fourteen seconds.”

Picard subtly swallowed, precious attoseconds clocking up as he contemplated his angle of attack.

_Egomaniacal. Ask about *him*, then._

“Why are you here?”

“Sightseeing.” The reply was desert-dry.

“At your own phenomena?”

“I’m insanely arrogant,” he snapped. _Defensive. Keep it up._ “Ten seconds. Make them matter.”

“Oh, I intend to. You’re not here to sightsee.”

“Oh, do you think?” The sarcasm virtually gained physical presence, it was so thick.

“You created this anomaly for a reason,” Picard said calmly. “Why would a god possibly require such a thing? Does it entail that which is denied to you, somehow?”

Q snarled, and the Captain hid triumph admirably. _Caught._

“Five seconds to figure it out, Captain,” he spat. “I might even spare you.”

The leader of the flagship didn’t hold such a title for nothing – he would use every moment to its fullest.

“This phenomena is a destructive force; it contains nothing that will forge new life, or -”

_“Four…”_

Picard stoically ignored his sardonic countdown.

“ – spring anything anew – it exists to ruin. You are a vengeful being, then -”

“Three…” _His voice… Hesistance. I’m close. Come on!_

“Gods of Earth mythology are eternal, omnipotent… why carry such morals when you can destroy with a thought?”

 _“Two…”_ His fingers trembled as they fell. Thrilled on adrenaline, the Captain stormed onwards desperately.

“It isn’t something you are capable of destroying, then, without considered thought – and if you are eternal, capable of anything, then it can only be -”

Horrified realisation struck Picard, even as Q’s gaze burned with tears.

 _“O-one…”_ A stammer, now.

“… It’s _you,”_ he whispered, astonished. “You’re trying to commit suicide.”

Several gasps shot across the bridge, and Picard finally released a breath, the deductive excitement fading to accommodate a bizarre, cold ache in his mechanical heart. He had barely remembered that he and Q weren’t alone.

“Congratulations.” Q’s tone bordered on broken, his countenance pale with emotional exertion. Picard’s throat lurched; this wasn’t the being he’d encountered not minutes ago, aglow with cruel confidence. He was set on his decision, then, had been for some time: he’d given up all considered hope of living.

Starfleet help him, _not on his damned watch,_ false god or incomprehensibly, somehow maddeningly otherwise. It didn’t matter who he was, not a single jot.

“Q, I don’t know you,” Picard began, and the man choked out the bitterest laugh he’d ever had the displeasure of hearing.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure – I’ve been contemplating this for nineteen thousand years, and you’re the first one to ever figure it out. In a race of omniscient entities, that’s fairly damned impressive.”

Picard’s mind boggled; none of this made any remote _sense._ Was he actually expected to believe that this man was mythically powerful? Perhaps he was simply disturbed, driven to the metaphorical edge by his own self-hatred and absurd ego…

The Frenchman locked his new acquaintance’s gaze, determined that such matters would be figured out in due course – he was exceptional at prioritising necessary duty, and it was abundantly clear that this man, identity irrespective, was in dire need of support.

“Q, I may not know you,” he continued, “but I must appeal to you – you don’t need to do this.”

“Why?” Q demanded instantly, sharply. _Defensive again. Definitely made up his mind – can’t even consider the alternative. You’re doing nothing of the sort, not whilst I’m here._

Picard smiled slightly.

“Well, for one thing, seems a considerable waste of talent.”

Q’s eyes wore curiosity. Picard had a faint suspicion that such a concept hadn’t been familiar to him in a long time.

“No – why do you _care,_ Jean-Luc Picard?” He demanded, desperate, and the nagging pain in Picard’s chest further deepened.

“Because you’re distressed,” he said simply, kindly. “Because if you’ve reached this point, perhaps you’ve never had anyone to contemplate the joys of life with, and I can’t abide by that, Q. Please… let me help.”

Q’s lips parted in astonishment, eyes blown wide, and Picard realised that his assumption had once again been correct – apparently, no one _did_ care.

 _Well, to hell with that. *I* do._ He made an absent mental note, another, to check in with Beverly later – this chest pain couldn’t be natural, surely.

“What makes you think _I_ care?” He breathed softly.

Picard’s smile grew to mild indulgence.

“Because I ran out of seconds some time ago, and you’re still talking to me.”

The faintest glimmer of a smirk tugged vaguely at the man’s lips, and for a brief moment, Picard dared to hope that it might well be possible to save him.

“Do you require a shuttlecraft?”

“You’re assuming my compliance?”

“I’m hoping for it,” Picard corrected softly.

Hesitation struck the depths of his features, twisting across his every pore for a breathless moment.

“Fine,” he murmured bitterly. “But I avow, Captain – you won’t change my mind. Ten minutes, and that’s frankly a courtesy.”

“I understand, Q.” His relief was palpable. _Many a man has underestimated my capabilities. I’ll do my best._ “Stand by to beam aboard.”

“Unnecessary. I’ll arrive imminently.”

The screen flickered, submerging them once more in the vivid hues of the not-hypernova they were impossibly residing in the middle of. Picard breathed deeply, casting a gaze around his flabbergasted staff.

“Nice to see that Dixon Hill holodeck programme paying off, sir.” Riker’s voice was weak, and Picard smiled in amusement, adding another caveat to his mental to-do list; _thank Guinan for her insight. Again._

“I’m sure it’s nothing Data’s Sherlock couldn’t have discovered, given the opportunity.”

“Er, I doubt it, sir.” Geordi’s voice responded dryly. They had apparently left the comm channel open. Data cast a glance irrationally upwards, frowning slightly.

“Are you alright, Captain?” His second-in-command’s eyes wore quiet worry.

“Yes, Number One, I think so,” he said honestly. “Whatever the hell he is, however he’s done any of this, he needs a guiding hand. Don’t worry – I fully intend to use that ten minutes for more than just offering moral support. I trust you would have raised an objection if he were not benevolent, Deanna?”

Troi nodded, curls lightly bouncing.

“He has no intention of hurting you, Captain,” she explained softly, “but he equally has no intention of changing his stance. I believe in you, you know that, but I cannot honestly see that altering, Jean-Luc.”

Picard sighed deeply.

“Nor can I,” he admitted heavily, “but I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t try. I may require your assistance, although I think you can understand that I shall attempt this alone, at least initially.”

“A wise decision. He has some form of trust in you.”

A puff of air escaped his lips, glancing up at Worf.

“The shields are fully operational, I presume?”

“No, Captain,” he replied darkly. “They are offline, and Commander La Forge has detected no problems with the systems controlling them.”

“Yet we appear to be intact.”

“We’re as lost as you, sir,” Riker stated, brows to his hairline.

“… Right,” Picard said, shaking his head. “I’ll establish that immediately, then. I’ll be in my ready room, whenever and however he decides to show up. If we _do_ happen to be ripped to shreds in the interim, just know that you’ve all been excellent.”

He turned on his heel and disappeared into his inner sanctum, utterly confused and more than slightly apprehensive of this bizarre individual.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein JLP gets even more confused despite clarification; a symphony in deep space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, thank you all for your kind words on the last outing - you're all a delight. <3 I greatly appreciate it, as I shall continue to do with all your future thoughts.
> 
> Secondly, upon a quick re-read, I didn't think I made the fact that Data and Worf weren't sure if Q had a ship overly clear, so I've edited it to ensure that it makes more sense - they didn't originally assume he had a ship, then discovered that he definitely didn't. Sorry for my incoherence, folks. 
> 
> Lastly, if you're unfamiliar with it, the Holmesian fallacy postulates that one shouldn't jump to the seemingly only conclusion available without considering that there are things beyond the realms of their current knowledge that could change the original result. If you're getting Dixon, you're getting Sherlock, and you can blame the logic module of my philosophy undergrad at your convenience.
> 
> Do enjoy, my loves!

** Chapter Two **

What in the name of all omnipotence was he _thinking?_ Shaking hands danced lightly across the fractures of reality that surrounded his death trap, weaving a plethora of untruths and misdirections into its very fabric.

 

How had he let a damned _human_ get into his head? He’d been so distracted by his impending doom that he’d inadvertently offered too much; that was the only way that admittedly brilliantly man could have deduced his plan. He’d have assumed, no doubt, that he was utilising some advanced technology to great effect… well, what was he supposed to think? Humans were too conventional to have been ever monitored with any real gusto by the Continuum, and thus had never been subject to contact. There’d be whispers, centuries ago – _“they do grow quickly” - “they’re idealistic” - “a million years from now they could mature sufficiently”_ – but they’d never lived up to their potential, instead trudging inanely through space at a maudlin pace, still _discovering_ and _exploring_ as though such aims held any real value. They were significantly off-track to achieve their full possibilities; they were dull, ape-like creatures, shadowed in ignorance and lost in a universe vastly too big for them.

 

Yet _this one…_ he’d managed to sneak a glimpse at the essence of a creature he could never hope to comprehend the complexities of, and it had taken him _thirty damned seconds._ He had made himself worthy of first contact, even if only so he could figure out how the hell he’d managed it. In his customary solitude, Q could even confess to mild intrigue; this individual had managed to rise above the paltry prospects of his species, and offer to help. He snorted hysterically, stardust sprinkling itself in a puff of outrage across the hull of the _Enterprise_ – the human known as Jean-Luc Picard wasn’t his deus ex machina. He was kind, he was intelligent (for having such a limited overall capacity, at least) but he was _nothing,_ and certainly insufficient to fill billions of years of emptiness.

 

_This is hopeless. You know that. You didn’t create this to admire it._

 

A quick chat, then. It did one no harm to invest ten minutes in the first point of interest they’d had for countless millennia. His eyes tore from the starship, burning as he considered the phenomena. His consciousness threaded through it, designed at every turn to tear his very essence apart; it shimmered, and he snarled. It was beyond absurd that the mere _notion_ of something vaguely meaningful was enough for him to be mildly questioning. He poured certainty into its fathoms, whispering a promise.

 

_I will be back. You will serve your purpose. He won’t save me, whoever the hell is. I’m far beyond that._

He cast his eternal gaze back to the vessel he was due on, and his demise twinkled in reassurance as he vanished.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Picard’s eyes marched across every inch of the not-hypernova, gathering visual information on its construction before he sighed quietly – he was being incontrovertibly _human,_ which was apparently problematic in this particular area of the galaxy _._ It wasn’t a natural creation; it was, if Q was to be believed, an execution device in astrophysical form. Whatever it was, he could be reasonably certain it wasn’t what it appeared to be – they were defenceless, in its very heart, and they were still in possession of both their ship and their existences. His molecules hadn’t yet been sprayed across the cosmic landscape, which was rather reassuring when he thought about it.

 

He considered it at length, changing his perspective to instead consider its aesthetic beauty – how could something lethal enough to tear apart a god be so utterly beautiful? Why on earth would he create a phenomena so achingly vibrant, so indescribably vivid, only to allow it to rip him asunder?

 

He shook himself angrily at his assumption of the truth – _no one_ , no technological device, could engineer stellar labyrinths. It had to be some sort of mad illusion, crafted by the wiles of those Starfleet were unfamiliar with – but, then, this sector had thirteen outposts, all of which were aligned, and their knowledge was an open book to him and anyone else who required such information within the organisation. The people of those worlds couldn’t simply advance their technology to such an insane degree and not have it be remotely noticed. The alternative, though, was incalculably ridiculous – Q _wasn’t_ lying.

 

He sipped his Earl Grey pensively, shaking his head at the fact that he was even considering such nonsense. He’d studied the mythologies of multiple planets in his archaeological exploits, and had never come across anything close to what this man claimed to be capable of – gods were embodiments of emotions, or pursuits. Even the apparently omnipotent didn’t hang around deep space in an attempt to kill themselves – they were overseers, content to watch placidly their creations and the developments of them. Bewilderment claimed him wholly, and he sighed quietly – this whole situation was completely mad. He shouldn’t be too surprised that the solutions his mind were offering were, too. He hadn’t instructed him to explore, but Will Riker would already be running a plethora of tests, scans and further diagnostics, his interest sparked as deeply as his Captain’s.

 

Between them, the obvious would present itself. The one thing he did know, however, was that his own mission was clear – ensure his crew weren’t in danger, and discover some way to help this unfathomable individual. The support he so desperately needed, Picard knew instinctively, wasn’t a misdirection – he’d watched the helpless flicker of pointlessness, the blaze of anguish that permeated the depths beyond, and his ethical code wouldn’t permit ignorance. Something indescribable drew him in, something beyond his own morality, and the not-hypernova glistened brightly at his silent contemplation.

 

“I’ll help you,” he murmured to the universe beyond his porthole, meaning it with his every fibre.

 

“I assure you, you won’t.”

 

Picard span instantly, heartbeat wild, to meet the face of the being who called himself Q. It wore utter neutrality, and perhaps the slightest twinge of fury. His eyes remained unchanged; searching, fascinated, painfully alone.

 

“Hello,” he greeted, ignoring his confusion as to how the man had arrived for the time being. “Welcome aboard. I’m glad you came.”

 

He offered out a hand, unsure as to whether the greeting was familiar, but having little else to offer without foreknowledge. Q contemplated it for too long a moment.

 

“Yes, _delighted_ , I’m sure,” he snapped instead. Picard’s hand withdrew silently, uselessly.

 

“Please, do have a seat.”

 

“I’ll stand.”

 

“As you wish.” Picard had precious little idea how to proceed, so he relied on human politeness. “I hope you don’t mind if I -”

 

“I’m not interested,” Q spat, toxic. “Just _get on with it_. You’re obviously familiar with the concept of brevity.”

 

Picard opted to stay standing, metaphorically keeping their power play level.

 

“I wish to know more about you,” he began softly. “I can’t claim to offer my help when I am unfamiliar with your plight.”

 

“Why are you bothering?” Q’s stare was unnervingly dark. “You assume me to be some sort of scientific marvel – a hologram, perhaps, the symbol of a silently advanced people, their technology far greater than yours. I can assure you, I’m very much real, and entirely what I professed to be. Your limited capacity will never believe such things, of course, and I will confess that you are rather intriguing, so the sooner you believe me, the sooner the remaining nine and a half minutes of our acquaintance can be utilised effectively.”

 

Picard blinked, stupefied. His story wasn’t altering, then.

 

“With respect, Q, how can you expect me to believe what you claim to be capable of? We’ve never encountered an individual, or a race, who has showcased us such absurdities as you have.”

 

Weariness flitted over the visage of the professed deity.

 

“You’re at the core of something that should have scattered your ashes to stellar winds, human. You’re here because I bent the universe to my whim for the trillionth time, catapulting everything you stand for eighty-three light years across the Alpha quadrant without the use of propulsion, or your other primitive technologies. You met me earlier this afternoon on the edge of your chartered space, indulging in a ‘last supper’ of port and sitting on the cusp of what you presumed to be a hypernova. Tell me, you _moron_ – what _more_ must I do to prove myself?!”

 

Indignation flashed wildly in his gaze, and Picard cried out as the mug he held spontaneously shattered, spraying him with a potent fusion of tan droplets and glass shards. Pain scratched at his eyelids as he unconsciously blinked, stuttering out agony as the fragments ground in further, and the being across the room emitted a scoffed noise of exasperation.

 

“Oh for god’s _sake_ -”

 

The sharp distress ended immediately, and Picard’s painless, unaffected gaze widened immeasurably as it met the man’s.

 

“I presume you can coax your neurons into figuring out your replicator once more?” Acid coated his tone. “That was entirely your _own_ fault, by the way.”

 

Picard spluttered ineffectually, his mind floundering for theories that could even hope to explain what had just happened.

 

“H-how the _hell_ did you -”

 

“It is a paramount insult to every member of my species that has ever existed that _you_ were the one who figured me out,” Q spat furiously. “So I’m a moniker of technology in your ridiculously simplistic view, correct?”

 

“I – yes, I suppose -”

 

“So anything I know about you, could possibly hope to embezzle you with, is going to be somewhere in Starfleet records, yes?!”

 

_Christ_ , he hadn’t even mentioned they were part of Starfleet, had he? It was rather difficult to concentrate over the deafening roar of this insanity, and the fact that he’d been only moments ago saved from blindness.

 

“Well, yes -”

 

“Then fire up those depressingly basic neural pathways, Picard, and suspend your cynicism for _ten damned seconds!_ ”

 

Picard’s mouth fell open, his slack jaw utterly failing to form the most simple of syllables. Six feet from him and to Q’s left, her hair a soft waterfall of gold and dress a sea of periwinkle, stood a translucent form of his mother. She smiled warmly, and his essence _flamed_ with her beauty, a thousand memories choking his every rapid breath. She had been a delight in all manners – compassionate, encouraging, loving, a rhapsody of gentility that he missed desperately.

 

“I…”

 

_It’s not real. She isn’t here. She *can’t* be here, for the love of god –_

“Sentimentalist,” Q muttered to himself, not so much as glancing at her – as though he already knew…

“You’re telepathic.” His gaze didn’t deviate, enraptured as it was, his voice hushed with wonder.

 

“Clearly, although I’m not utilising such abilities. Aside from her, obviously. You’re just about interesting enough for me to refrain. You believe me, then?”

 

Faced with the comprehensive inability to argue, Picard swallowed harshly. It could be a projection, he supposed, but Q was absent of any device that could provide such an image, never mind the technological advancement required to draw the avatar from either of their minds with such perfect clarity. He didn’t even have a _ship._ An errant thread of his subconscious rose to the surface; his android commander and chief engineer, clad in their Victorian clothes.

 

_“Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth,”_ Data quoted within his mind. His eyes wrenched closed against his will, struggling to contend with the magnitude of the discovery, his mother burned into the rear of his lids.

 

It was farcical, ludicrous… _illogical_ , yet he’d long since run out of explanations, as had the rest of his crew. They should all be dead – it was inescapable. They shouldn’t be here. He should have lost his vision.

 

_No matter how improbable…_

 

His eyes flew open, and he was somehow unsurprised to find that his mother had vanished as his quiet, disbelieving gaze latched onto the god’s.

 

“Yes,” he said simply. “For now, at least.”

 

_Until I’ve got anything else to go on. Anything at all. Beware the Holmesian fallacy._

 

Q rolled his eyes. Picard didn’t miss the rapid note of gratitude in them nevertheless.

 

“I know you’re significantly hampered by your own genetic misfortune, Picard, but that took _far_ too long,” he said coolly. “You’ve only got three minutes left. Prove that I came here for a reason.”

 

Casting aside his childhood reminiscence in order to maintain concentration, Picard nodded, determined to assess to the best of his capacity. His words had been true – he had developed a workable theory, no matter how astounding it seemed – and now, like all good scientists, he had to prove his hypothesis one way or the other. Still, where better to start than at the beginning?

 

“Telepathy aside, you must know what my primary question is.”

 

Q’s fingers twisted around a cup of Earl Grey that hadn’t been there a second earlier. He took a tentative sip to avoid the question, his eyes lightening minutely even as Picard’s hand silently tapped the underneath of his desk, subconsciously trying to decide if he was awake or not.

 

“Want one?”

 

“I have a replicator,” Picard replied weakly.

 

“Suit yourself. I’m not your personal waiter – no refreshments will be provided on the excursion.”

 

If he _was_ asleep, this was the strangest damned dream he’d ever experienced. He’d have to have a rather solemn word with Deanna.

 

“‘Excursion’? Q, what are you _talking_ about?”

 

The faintest tantalising spark flashed upon his features.

 

“Buckle up!”

 

Before Picard could offer so much as an utterance of a protest, he became aware they’d moved somehow, his frame tingling in a manner similar to that brought about by beaming. The phenomena blazed before him, and he acknowledged with a jolt of nausea that he wasn’t regarding it through glass any more. His vision flew crazily around, and he gasped in horror, throat threatening to ice over – he wasn’t aboard the _Enterprise_ at all.

 

He was in open space, without any visible means of life support. Utter panic seized him, even as his sharp mind logically trilled that he should already be history; he wrenched himself under control, his harsh gulps of air receding somewhat – it _had_ to be a cloaked ship, Data and Worf _had_ to be have been wrong –

 

“They weren’t, but whatever helps you sleep at night,” Q drawled, the human’s frenetic thoughts so loud, he had no choice but to overhear them in such close proximity. “If it helps at all, you’ve got two and a half minutes – I have no intention of killing you, at least not before they’re up. Cigar?”

 

Picard had long since prided himself on his unshakeable leadership, his stoic nature in the face of the nonsensical and dangerous – it was a necessary skill for starship captains, and one he in particular excelled at. He was undaunted, instinctually diplomatic, whatever the universe threw at him and his crew, and had been both highly decorated and celebrated for his ability to be so.

 

Clutching on for dear life to a leather recliner on the rim of chartered free space, being offered a casual Cuban cigar that hadn’t existed mere moments earlier by an apparent god and staring at a phenomena had no business being there in the first place, he felt he had something of a right to be a little off his game, duty be damned.

 

_“What the hell kind of trickery is this?!”_ He roared, and Q sighed, light-years deep.

 

“Perhaps you ought to try expanding that molecular mind of yours,” he snapped impatiently. “If you wish to believe that we’re on a somehow invisible ship, then believe away, idiot – but you’re here for a limited time and a specific reason, so do _attempt_ to rise above the pathetic species you’ve unfortunately been assigned to and _pay attention_ , alright?”

 

Picard winced as his fingers slipped silently to his commbadge; his eyes widened considerably as he realised it was defunct, and mentally added yet another bullet point to the reasons they couldn’t possibly be aboard a ship. Q glanced silently at the action, exhaustion gracing his face.

 

“Look, I assure you, Picard – you’re perfectly safe. You wish to understand me, correct?”

 

“I… yes. My determination to help you hasn’t wavered, Q,” Picard vowed. “I’m just… _discombobulated._ I’m a scientist, a man of rationale, and this is beyond any form of logic I’ve ever encountered.”

 

Q’s lips pursed, a dash of empathy colouring his gaze.

 

“ _You_ are beyond any form of logic I have ever encountered,” he muttered dryly. “Concentrate on the present, Picard. Block out the rest of it – move beyond your humanity, for a brief moment, and tell me… aboard my non-existent ship, what do you see?”

 

Picard smashed down the dread that had climbed in his throat, taking a second to convince himself that they were indeed on a vessel of some kind before he spoke.

 

“A hypernova. Stars, the planets between. My ship.”

 

“ _It isn’t a_ -”

 

“You asked me what _I_ see,” Picard interrupted sharply, glaring. “I can only follow my own, apparently limited, knowledge.”

 

“I meant what you _actually_ see, imbecile,” Q retorted coldly, unabashed.

 

Picard blinked, biting back irritation as he considered the phenomena more metaphysically.

 

“Majesty,” he whispered, allowing his mind to wander. “The opportunity to discover, to explore, to gather knowledge… to prosper, and to develop my understanding, to use that information to assist the human pursuit of wisdom. I have no conception of what lays within your supposed creation, but its complexity, its vibrancy, is a new world, desperate to be uncovered.  This universe is _wondrous_ , Q.”

 

Moisture crept into Q’s eyes, the human’s distinguished face blending to simple flesh beneath his tears.

 

“Do you want to know what I see, Picard? An _ending.”_ His rich voice trembled, every micron of his self-assurance dissipating as he continued. “The pitch-black horror of all that lies between those worlds, their suns, their possibilities – the inky, bleak nothingness that pervades all of reality. I have nothing to strive for within it, nothing to achieve, nothing to hope for – it’s all _mine_ , the moment I desire it. Perhaps you think such capacity a dream, whether or not you can bring yourself to believe it, but it’s achingly empty. Four and half _billion_ years I’ve existed, Picard, and in all that damned time, I’ve seen everything, and learned nothing. I can’t possibly expect you to comprehend an iota of that scope, but you said you’re driven by purpose, by the need to grow… I _can’t._ I am eternal, wholly stagnant, and from a race of individuals who are exactly the same. Tell me, human – where does one find a _raison d'être_ in _that?_ ”

 

A sparkle of starlight burst upon the sorrow in Picard’s gaze, his sympathy absolute; how horrific a notion, to have one’s story written through the machinations of time itself, and to have their words make such little impact upon it – it seemed so agonisingly unfair, and so beyond his biological comprehension that his head swam.

 

“I don’t know,” he said hoarsely, staring at the being, overwhelmed. “But I’d like to help you discover one.”

 

The resulting laugh was cracked, borderline crazed, even as Q’s gaze ignited with awe.

 

“How, in the name of the Continuum, would you even _attempt_ such a task?”

 

Picard hadn’t a notion what a ‘continuum’ was, staunchly avoiding the raising of even further questions in favour of instinctively pursuing his determination.

 

“Honestly?” He smiled, laughably far out of his established understanding of almost anything. “I haven’t a _clue_. I can’t even begin to quantify any of this, frankly. I was having a relaxed afternoon, and now I’m seemingly having a provocative conversation in a hitherto unexplored region of space, without any discernible way of surviving. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m slightly at sea, Q – but whatever this is, wherever I am and whoever you _actually_ are, the only thing I’ve got left to trust is my own conscience, and it’ll be damned if I let you throw yourself in that thing.”

 

In his peripheral vision, Picard could have sworn several of the distant stars flashed supernova-bright, but he was far too invested in Q’s emotional state to pay any remote attention. His breathing stammered – how either of them were even doing that in the first place was another of the innumerable mysteries of the day – before his essence slammed shut, countenance devolving instantly to darkness, the distinct note of hesitation disappearing as quickly as it had arrived. The gesture rebounded on the Captain as though physical pain.

 

“I’d _love_ to see you try and stop me.” Picard’s heart sank at the vitriol. “Such preposterous arrogance, assuming a flair of eloquence can change divine assertion! What could _you_ ever hope to offer me?!”

 

Picard floundered.

 

“Time,” he said moments later, “and a chance to inject the meaning you so desperately need – come with me, Q.”

 

“ _What?_ ” He followed the human’s gaze to his ship. “You honestly expect me to gain purpose from the travels of a conventional starship, given what I’ve divulged? You’re vastly less intelligent than I gave you any form of credit for, Picard -”

 

“We humans gather value from others. You aren’t simply tired of existing, Q – you’re tired of being _alone_.”

 

Q stopped abruptly, even his inhalation seeming to halt mid-breath.

 

“How can you _possibly_ know that?” He whispered, struck.

 

“Because so am I,” Picard murmured. “Perhaps that’s the one thing I _can_ identify with.”

 

They stared at one another for an uncomfortable length of time, suspended on Q’s whim.

 

“You seem to enjoy imposing deadlines,” Picard said softly, hopefully. “One week, that’s all I ask. If I can’t show you something, anything, that offers you a reason to continue…”

 

Their gazes shifted, unified, to the blaze of his intended suicide. Q inaudibly choked, urgently trying to stop himself consenting, to not allow this human to smash yet more of his time restrictions.

 

“What’s a week, to the man who lives forever?”

 

He couldn’t avoid clinging to that rich timbre, gritting his teeth – he had a point.

 

“ _Fine_ ,” he choked out, “but we do this on _my_ terms, human, and if I don’t like what I see -”

 

“I know.” The acknowledgement bore the weight of galaxies. “Thank you.”

 

Q nodded once, clicking his fingers, the digits shaking; the fascinating man beside him vanished, as did the hand that had crept gently to his forearm in silent comfort. He shuddered violently in regret at its absence, casting a final longing look at his creation.

 

“I haven’t changed my mind, and nor will I,” he swore quietly.

 

He disappeared after his newfound acquaintance, furious at the labyrinthine depths of his own curiosity.

 

In his wake, the phenomena burned ever more vividly, a voiceless spectator to the wishes of a god.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the Holmesian Fallacy is irreparably shattered, the author enjoys dynamic tones, Q has a drink for almost every occasion, Jean-Luc Picard is the very best of humanity, Will Riker is entirely lost and two beings, a million light years from one another but simultaneously stuck together, may just become friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my GOD, I am so fucking sorry for how absurdly long this has taken, jesus christ... :/ I've started a new job recently, have been cramming in research for my upcoming Master's degree, and am just generally a terrible human being. If I'm being honest, I slightly wrote myself into a corner, and with how busy I've been, I wasn't quite sure how to proceed. I've always known where this fic is going, but wasn't overly certain on how to get there, and I'd rather blow you away over extra time than send you a breeze in ten minutes.
> 
> ... But we're back, friends, and I finally know exactly what I'm doing! Praise your relevant deity at your convenience (I'll stick with Q. He's been too distracted to help, you know). This has now become five chapters, which is an extra one to the promised trio with an epilogue - I intend to time-skip a tad in the next chapter, but depending on how much I breeze by, I might be making it six. You'll be happy to know that I've sort of been writing this backwards, so I've already finished the epilogue and some of the next chapter, so I faithfully promise that it will be updated during that week(-ish) timeframe I promised about nine fucking years ago now. I am awful but I love you all <3
> 
> Anyway, do enjoy! Feel free to tell me what you think if you're not too pissed at me... The tone of this chapter is deliberately dramatic; I've switched it up a little to incorporate more of Q's natural eccentricity, so you may find yourselves briefly amused before the ongoing depression - do tell me how my attempts to destroy your linear emotional pathways have gone, if you've a moment. :D

Picard’s first realisation was that wherever he was, it most certainly wasn’t the _Enterprise._ Aside from a holodeck programme of questionable moral standard, his ship generally didn’t consist of half-naked lilac humanoids, lurid cocktails and himself in a private hot tub. The cigar he was mysteriously holding sizzled briefly as it dropped, disgusted, into the bubbles encasing its owner, whose eyes swept the horizon in growing alarm – no Federation outposts in this sector were lit by triple suns, their microsilicates incapable of lending themselves to the soft teal hue of the beach before him...

 

What the hell was going on?

 

“You _honestly_ thought I was taking you back to that tin can of a starship?” A voice to his right drawled, and his furious gaze snapped to Q’s, who was casually sipping something acid green through an unnecessarily flamboyant straw. He pulled down his sunglasses just enough to convey the full effect of his exasperation, novelty drink parasol tipping warily to the side of his glass. “You really _are_ an idiot, aren’t you?”

 

“Q, where in god’s name are we?!”

 

“Calcofrex VI,” came the casual reply, “also known as the only thing worth a damn in the entire south-west-southern sector of the Gamma Quadrant. I mean there’s some dull history on the first three, I suppose – intergenerational war, the sort of droll politics engaged in by moronic mortals – but it really isn’t worth -”

 

_“Hush, dammit!”_

 

Umbrage stole across Q’s face.

 

“… You’re quite rude, aren’t you?”

 

Picard snarled, hoisting himself out of the tub and grabbing one of the nearby complementary towels, intent on putting some distance between himself and the incorrigible entity. He wrapped it round himself, aggravated, and glanced critically around – this was some sort of resort, seemingly – there had to be a terminal of some sort somewhere close, a way to communicate with the _Enterprise_ –

 

“I don’t know where you think you’re going,” Q called airily, sounding supremely unconcerned. “You’re two quadrants away from everything you’ve ever known – best of luck getting ‘beamed’ back, Captain.”

 

Picard staunchly ignored him, agitation burning to a fever-pitch within – there was a steady throng of tourists three hundred feet hence, dipping between vividly-lit market stalls in the soft dusk of the early evening; local knowledge would guide him to somewhere useful. His bare feet pounded the street into submission, anger blinding him to a realm of potential realisation – wherever this actually was (because it sure as all hell wasn’t the damned _Gamma Quadrant_ , regardless of Q’s suggestion to the contrary), the architecture was entirely unique, the surrounding structures a curious fusion of exotic woods, blues and an indistinguishable grey fuzz that would have stung his retinas had he been looking directly at it. The people, too, were startlingly unfamiliar; shades of purple, the palest lavender to the deepest violet, and every single one of them twitching their elaborate antenna and chattering furiously at the passing alien, who didn’t much care to remotely notice.

 

Q watched from the jacuzzi in mounting exasperation, eyes rolling so hard he was surprised his frail human form could contain them. He rose fingers from beneath the bubbling waves, clicking sharply, appearing spontaneously several metres ahead of the human. Picard started, stopping dead and facing down the apparent god with all the malevolence he could muster. Lesser men would have quaked at the imminent fall of all they had ever believed in; Q merely turned a poisonous glare on his unlikely new acquaintance, unimpressed.

 

“This is fruitless,” he snapped. “What, exactly, are you attempting -”

 

“To contact my damned ship!” Picard fumed, trembling with outrage. “I didn’t offer my assistance to have you _kidnap_ me, Q!”

 

“ _Au contraire_ , human.” The reply was solemn with toxicity, something entirely too cold and dark for Picard’s remote comfort stalking across his features in the ever-depleting sunlight. “You agreed to a week on _my_ terms, did you not?”

 

“And what _are_ your terms, Q?!” Picard railed. “I am a _starship captain_ – I cannot just go wandering off around the galactic locality without so much as a by-your-leave! Whatever this arrangement entails –”

 

“I haven’t _made_ any arrangements,” Q interrupted icily. “I was hardly expecting some incomprehensible mortal to be just about intriguing enough to stop me from _killing myself_ – a concept that, quite frankly, I am damned well reconsidering my position on!”

 

Picard swallowed silently, urging a blast of tranquillity to permeate his unnatural impulsiveness – this man was the most unorthodox force he’d ever encountered, but his quiet yearning to save him hadn’t dimmed. There had to be boundaries, however, certain unbreakable contingencies put into effect – this sort of erratic behaviour could not be permitted.

 

“There’s no need for that,” he murmured, regretful. “If you have no intention of returning me, however, I will make my own way back, and you may accompany –”

 

“Do you specifically exist to irritate me?” Q cut across him with indignation. “You know what? _Goodbye_ _!_ Enjoy verifying exactly what it is I’ve just told you! See that, imbecile?” He jabbed a finger at a rather out-of-place building, rustic but finished in a sleek chrome with minted glass, which lay a little further into the resort. “You may find it helpful, insomuch as this entire exercise is completely inane!”

 

Picard’s jaw locked with determination, resolutely abandoning his sense of hesitation – he turned on a bare heel and set off, leaving Q alone. The entity shivered unconsciously, cursing the innate omniscience that left his awaiting execution unavoidably front and centre of his mind. How the hell was this ‘salvation’ meant to work when the idiot couldn’t bear to abandon his ship for any considered length of time? It would be so painfully simple to dissolve himself without Picard ever noticing, to allow the atoms binding both this pathetic frame and the potent essence their final, blissful freedom –

 

“Aren’t you coming?”

 

Q snapped out of his dark contemplation, glancing sharply at the curious Captain.

 

“Thought you’d enjoy gloating, if you’re so sure you’re correct,” he observed mildly. Q swallowed thickly, hating himself only slightly further at how willing he was to give this man the opportunity to not monumentally fail him. He followed on dutifully, the not-hypernova ( _since when had he started referring to it as that, for crying out loud?_ ) shoved forcefully towards the back of his consciousness. He cast a cutting glare at the black clouds that had rolled up the beach at his depression, banishing them with considerable effort.

 

He had agreed to a week. There were almost seven days before the descent of that hurricane, and as inevitable at its destructive force was, it could wait… for now, at least.

 

Several million light years away, it flickered obnoxiously nevertheless as its creator blithely trailed a lowly human, unrelenting in its pursuit.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Picard tore into the lobby of the hotel five minutes later, almost breathless; his pace had been borderline frantic, his inner detective desperate to clarify exactly what was going on. The line of terminals by the seating area were largely unfamiliar; their shape shared similarities with a standard Starfleet version, but they seemed significantly older and rather less advanced. Undeterred, he started towards the nearest unoccupied one, weaving between several of the natives to examine it. Across the hall, Q leaned against a velvet wall, rather disillusioned by the process and sipping from a curious blue fruit. Picard was resourceful, he’d give him that much – it didn’t take him more than a few moments to analyse the alien technology and discover how it operated. He methodically scanned through instructions, clearing his throat to preface his query.

 

“Computer, what is the name of this planet?”

 

 _“Calcofrex VI,”_ it responded monotonously, its adopted voice a deep tone of soothing masculinity. _“Do you require information on its tourist-accessible amenities?”_

Picard quirked a brow, unused to AIs that could question independently.

 

“No – show me your database on Starfleet.”

 

_“Unable to comply. ‘Starfleet’ is an unknown parameter.”_

A distinct sense of unease burrowed its way through Picard’s veins. Twenty feet away, Q valiantly attempted not to take the reply as a personal challenge to eradicate them.

 

“It’s the primary organisation of this quadrant – how can you not know what it is?”

 

 _“There is nothing pertaining to ‘Starfleet’ in my database,”_ the terminal replied in an unconcerned drawl. _“Is there something else you require, traveller?”_

 

The human levelled it with a ferocious glare.

 

“Tell me our universal location.”

 

A video sprang from the screen, playing in a primitive hologram. Picard regarded it coldly, his stomach sinking further with every second of footage.

 

 _“Calcofrex VI is the pride and joy of the Relloran system,”_ sang a high-pitched tone, evidently attempting to be as absurdly optimistic as possible about the facilities on offer. _“The southwestern Gamma Quadrant’s primary resort world, Calcofrex VI boasts year-round tropical heat –”_

_“Stop!”_

It did so immediately at the incensed, panicked command. Q refilled his fruit with marked disinterest as Picard dashed across to another free terminal, demanding knowledge from it with logic worthy of a Vulcan. It took three more units and an amateur diagnostic before the stubborn human accepted the knowledge he was being offered, and he collapsed upon a nearby sofa, utterly dazed, eyes glazed with glass. Q casually glanced around the lobby, gaze occasionally straying to his shell-shocked companion, awaiting some form of tangible reaction from him.

 

“This is… the Gamma Quadrant.” His voice, when it eventually arose, could have rivalled the second geometrical dimension for flatness. “You’re… _actually bloody omnipotent.”_

“Mm, nice of you to realise,” Q noted acidly. He stared at him for a long moment, with a look that an uneducated observer might have assumed as concerned. “Are you alright?”

 

“Fine,” Picard replied far too quickly, knowingly avoiding the entity’s gaze. “Just a little… you know.”

 

Q didn’t, but he nodded nevertheless.

 

“I’ll give you a minute,” he said dryly.

 

“I would appreciate that.” The Captain sank a little deeper into the plush cushions, eyes implausibly widening even further. Q watched a ridiculous giggle fall from his lips with some alarm. _“Bon dieu…”_

“I prefer ‘Q’,” the god quipped, slurping up the remnants of his cocktail before tossing idly the fruit that had contained it over his shoulder. It vanished before it could strike the lobby’s linoleum floor, instead squishing somewhat as it met the soft carpet of the _Enterprise_ ’s bridge. Two quadrants hence, Will Riker whirled around from his discussion with Data at the sound, mouth agape. He cast wild glances at his equally bewildered colleagues, stooping to pick up the mush with a pinched brow.

 

“What the _f_ –”

 

“- inished yet?” Q asked impatiently, ignoring the irate Commander in his cross-dimensional vision.

 

“Am I finished questioning everything I’ve ever learned?” Picard was incredulous.

 

“Yes. Have you?” The query was curt. “I’ve only got a week to live, in case you’d forgotten.”

 

The embittered words sobered the Captain instantly; hands on his knees, he stood, somewhat surprised to find his legs almost entirely steady. His natural efficiency grasped him in a stranglehold, his ruthless capacity for prioritising serving him well – there would be time to question just about everything he had ever been taught somewhere down the line. He wasn’t getting another seven days; however skilled he seemed to be at coaxing this being into extending time limits, he very much doubted he would be allowed to get away with it this time.

 

“And I intend to use it wisely,” he promised, finally deigning to glance at the entity – Q seemed somewhat confounded that his straightforward approach had so soundly worked, but he recovered quickly, expression once again adopting neutrality.

 

“Where to, then?”

 

Picard arched a brow; accepting as he had to be of his logical fallacies disintegrating before his eyes, how was he supposed to suggest a destination in a universe he knew precious little of, in its grandest schemes? He assumed the _Enterprise_ was comprehensively off the table, at least until their week expired. He felt a pang of dismay; as sure as he was of his course of action, his absence would leave his crew utterly at a loss, grinding ship’s business to a halt as they methodically searched for any trace of his whereabouts.

 

“I know it’s all new and astonishing,” Q drawled sardonically, having unconsciously overheard his mental ramblings, “but that whole ‘omnipotence’ thing extends as far as it sounds, dear Captain – no one onboard your _precious_ vessel will ever know you haven’t been there. But, if you _must_ reassure your minions…”

 

Q clicked lazily, and Picard realised with a jolt that they were back in the beachfront hot tub they’d arrived on Calcofrex within; the only notable difference was the presence of the Starfleet flagship’s mostly naked First Officer, who whirled around in utter astonishment with an undignified yelp until he met his Captain’s equally bewildered eyes.

 

“Sir?!”

 

“Will,” he greeted, stunned, and as one, the command duo turned their harshest glares on the entity, every atom the great leaders they were. Q blinked, supremely nonplussed, neither intimidated by Federation politics nor by the non-threat they both presented. He summoned a drinks tray from thin air, and Riker blanched, jaw dropping – those cups were startlingly familiar. The leftmost one was even oddly squashed; Q span the tray in that direction, holding out the relevant fruit, a thread of challenge weaving through his eternal gaze.

 

“That isn’t – that _can’t be_ –” He spluttered. “What the hell is happening, dammit?! Where are we? _Sir?”_

Picard clapped a hand to his shoulder, swallowing outrage at the situation; this was categorically unnecessary if his absence genuinely wouldn’t be noticed, and would only serve to needlessly concern his staff.

 

“Number One, this is… well, the Gamma Quadrant,” he murmured, kind gaze latched to the Commander’s, whose eyes threatened to pop cleanly from his skull.

 

 _“What?”_ He breathed, lost. “Captain, with respect –”

 

Picard held up a placating hand, still barely containing his own disbelief enough to seem remotely convincing. He had often served as a mentor for this man, as much as Riker had never really required such care; he was more competent than the vast majority of those who outranked him, in Picard’s experience, and gifted with an ease of temperament that could switch quickly wherever necessary that served him very well, both in command and as a man. The least he could do was continue his possibly misguided guidance, however unhelpful he was likely to be, during the single most bizarre experience they would ever be likely to share – or, indeed, even deal with individually.

 

“It’s utterly impossible, I know,” he said softly, “but he’s as omnipotent as he claimed to be.”

 

Riker visibly struggled to process the information, though Picard privately felt he was doing a mildly better job of it than he himself had. He stuttered a breath, before rounding on an intrigued Q.

 

“So you’ve just kidnapped him?!” He spat, unperturbed by the shadows that stole assumed features; Picard grimaced, his First’s bravado undoubtedly caused by whatever his own interpretation of the Holmesian fallacy was.

 

“’Kidnapped’?” Q echoed coldly. “Hardly – he offered me a gambit, human. I merely accepted, and frankly, I still have no idea why, so if you could finish your inane chatter, perhaps he could prove vaguely useful. Stranger things have happened, at least to your limited mentality –”

 

 _“Q!”_ Picard snapped, cutting across the mutiny he fully anticipated from his colleague in favour of his personal fury. “It’s absurd enough that you dragged my First Officer halfway across the universe – insulting his intelligence is a step too damned far!”

 

The entity paled a shade, stopping mid-sip of his cocktail to regard his newfound companion with something that ever-so-slightly resembled fear.

 

“Worry not, Picard – he’ll be returning imminently.” His voice was devoid of all emotion, unnervingly reminding the humans of their android compatriot. “You could go with him.”

 

Something entirely unpleasant resounded within the Captain; it didn’t take godly intellect to acknowledge that the offer was a one-way ticket, the invitation extended only to members of Starfleet.

 

“Good,” Riker seethed to his left. “This is insane – I wish you well, Q, but you’re akin to anarchy.”

 

“How delightfully accommodating the people you surround yourself with are, Picard,” Q snarled, the previously fluffy spattering of pale clouds that dotted Calcofrexan sky once again noticeably darkening. “I am not your captor, humans – if you wish to go home, Captain, I will be delighted to instigate your return.”

 

He rose fingers from the bubbly depths, and Picard shivered despite the water’s warmth, not failing to notice their soft trembling. A choice, then, when he’d already made one; abandon this insanity, or press on with a helpless cause? His very soul seemed to rebel at the latter – to thoughtlessly cast aside such an intelligent, desperate being, to leave him to his fate sat sickeningly in his stomach, but Riker was wholeheartedly correct nevertheless. Q was incarnate chaos, the very fabric of reality beholden to his moods, and he was the leader of Starfleet’s finest, far too sensible and bequeathed by duty to risk his own safety on the whirlwind of a being to his right.

 

“And if I go?” The question was a mere whisper, his stare endless.

 

“So do I.” The reply was painfully simple, Q’s countenance the definition of stoic, and it further dragged disgust through the Frenchman’s spirit that he was even vaguely contemplating it. He was in no way telepathic, or even the empath his Counsellor was, but he still couldn’t miss the existential despair that even omnipotence couldn’t quite mask, basking in the dimensions of his silent gaze. He was Q’s last hope, he knew; not just metaphysically, but quite literally – he had, as the entity had mentioned, offered him a gambit, and he’d never been one to back down from a challenge, even one as impossible at the one he faced now.

 

After all, what was the point in exploring the unchartered regions of the galaxy if all one could bear was playing it _safe?_ He had no real concept of what was drawing him in; perhaps it was the adventurous rebel he had once been, young, handsome and bursting at the seams with a foolishness he had never quite managed to entirely purge, or perchance it was his own matured morality, determined not to let such an incredible being squander what he had been given.

 

Either way – or something in between that, like almost everything else that had happened that day, made absolutely no sense – he had decided his course the moment he had asked for these seven days. It was absurdly dangerous, but then again, so was wandering through deep space, and he really rather enjoyed that.

 

Mind made up, he turned quietly to his second-in-command, his expression apologetic, his words chosen carefully. He blinked through the spontaneous rainstorm that had erupted high above, his lips curling into a small smile that he hoped that was reassuring.

 

“Number One, you’ve always held immense faith in me,” he murmured. “I ask that you continue to do so, at least for the next week.”

 

Gasps of varying intensity sounded from either side of the hot tub, and Picard barely noticed the instant halting of the rain; it had literally frozen, not in temperature but in time, as though it had completely forgotten about its own progression.

 

“You’re not serious?!” Riker demanded, incredulous. “He could spread your atoms from here back to the damned ship!”

 

Picard’s features wore gentle appeasement, even at his secret agreement.

 

“I made a promise, Will,” he answered heavily. “As did he – I’m assuming that means that my atoms will remain within their precise configuration, at least for the next seven days?”

 

He directed a dry glance at Q, whose skin had taken on an altogether whiter tone than before; mute, he simply nodded, and the sun immediately made a stark reappearance, clearing the stormy front in a heartbeat. Picard’s smile matured in acknowledgement, even as Riker’s jaw clicked in severe disapproval.

 

“I’m outmanned, and outgunned,” he muttered, eyes hardening, “but I’d like it on record, Captain, that I cannot possibly agree with your decision.”

 

“I wouldn’t think half as much of you if you did,” Picard promised him quietly. “I have been assured that no one will notice my absence, Commander, so I’ll leave it with you as to whether you wish to inform the senior staff of my whereabouts.”

 

“Alright,” his First acceded, weight sandwiched tightly between the concerns in his blue gaze. “Are you sure about this, Jean-Luc?”

 

“Yes – _are_ you?” Q’s voice held a harshness, and Picard concluded joylessly that the entity had fully expected him to accept his exit clause – after all, this was the first time that he’d truly realised what he was letting himself in for, and many less sensible than him would have long since acquiesced to run for the metaphorical hills.

 

“I am.” His gaze held Riker’s for a long moment before switching to Q’s, conveying equal gravity. The god surpassed his intensity, locking down sincere eyes for close to a minute before the briefest flash of certainty flickered upon his features, and he gave a minute nod. Glancing away, almost with embarrassment at the emotional showcase, he snapped far steadier fingers; Riker was gone in a flash, and Picard took a second to calm his racing mechanical heart, still shot through as it was with adrenaline.

 

“Right,” he announced with false brightness after he’d caught his breath, deliberately parroting Q’s former question back at him. “Where to, then?”

 

Q’s expression bathed in disbelief; he forced down the sizeable lump in his throat, trying in vain to dismiss the thought that he could rather easily grow to like this lumpen little human, whose ideas soared far above his pathetic Federation and who had chosen, probably unwisely, to lay wholehearted trust at the feet of an all-powerful being he had met only hours earlier.

 

 _So he’s risen above his basest of species once or twice – about time one of the morons did_ , his mind spat, though it held little of his customary venom, and he thoroughly shook off any slim threads of attachment that threatened to latch onto the madman he sat across from.

 

“You’re asking me?” He demanded, voice reset nearly to its prior level of nonplussed.

 

“Let’s just say that I’m bowing to your superior knowledge.”

 

Q frantically attempted to ignore the stubborn idea that he was being teased by a being with at least eighteen hundred fewer IQ points than him, and then tried even harder to dismiss the notion that he might be vaguely enjoying it.

 

“Such a limited imagination, humans,” he commented disdainfully. “Are you hungry, Picard? Thirsty? Exploratory, depressed… in need of another sort of holiday, perhaps?”

 

Q spontaneously clicked, needing with some urgency to regain the metaphorical upper hand in a situation he felt slowly slipping away from him. Picard reflexively shivered, even beneath the multiple layers he had suddenly adopted, at the sight of the snow-blanketed valley far below them. Stammering out a gasp, he took several sizeable steps back from the cliff edge they were precariously perched upon, glaring at the entity beside him. The god hadn’t bothered acclimatising – he still donned casual beachwear, sunshades shoved into his hairline, though his free hand was now wrapped around a mug of something steamy, the handle an unsurprisingly familiar letter of the alphabet.

 

“Earl Grey,” he informed the Captain mildly, face a portrait of innocence. “Welcome home, by the way.”

 

Picard shook his head, his woollen hat slipping a little further over his ears as he did so, arching a curious brow and turning instead to the stark mountainsides. Tens of skiers zipped competently along complex paths, several clusters more attempting to adapt to snowboards; further back still on relatively flatter land lay a modern village, hundreds milling between its sleek, glassy buildings and boarding cable cars. It was all strangely familiar, somehow, and something snapped into place in the Captain’s mind as he recalled the quip of homeliness.

 

“Is this _Val Thorens?”_ He asked in disbelief – he hadn’t recognised it instantly, discombobulated as he was, and having never seen it from this perspective; they were vastly higher up than his species had a general oxygen tolerance to deal with safely, particularly in this frigid air. It still made his head swim that in present company, that fact mattered not a jot.

 

“Not exotic enough for you, Picard?” Q enquired archly. “Perhaps we’ll err on the side of history, then…”

 

The Frenchman barely had a moment to draw breath before he was swallowed by the shadow of something enormous; any further attempts at respiration were comprehensively stripped away for a lengthy moment as he span around, gobsmacked at what was causing the newfound darkness.

 

“That’s…”

 

He trailed off weakly, too enraptured to utter a further syllable.

 

“I mean, it’s hardly the Cawmacchian oval galaxy by helicopter,” Q drawled, “but I suppose it’s a reasonable structure, given how tragically disadvantaged your people were at this stage.”

 

Q regarded the Colosseum with the utmost boredom, sipping spiced wine from an intricately designed, earthenware pot.

 

Childlike wonder stormed through Picard; he wrestled himself to submission, his grin rapidly diminishing in the manic fervour of an ancient Roman marketplace. He had a grand respect for the continuity of time, even if Q so obviously didn’t share such sentiments, and he was all too aware of the damage their innocent exploration could wreak.

 

“This is… _extraordinary_ ,” he breathed, intoxicated, “but we can’t be here, Q. Our mere presence could irreparably shatter the established pathways of history –”

 

Exasperation had become something of a default state in the entity’s brief acquaintance with his odd companion, and it claimed him wholly once again as though the metaphorical old friend he had never possessed.

 

“Dear _god_ – four billion years, and I’ve never met such a narcissist! Do you _legitimately_ believe you’re important enough to topple the greatest domestic empire your puny world has ever known?! What, pray tell, do you intend to do that’s so catastrophic – phaser an emperor to death? Perhaps introduce the Persians to replicators?”

 

 _“Q!”_ The reprimand was a sharp hiss, conscious as he was of the curious glances of several passing Romans. Q sneered at them, and Picard’s mind blew anew at the notion of what such a patchwork of primitive religious cultures would think to the presence of a deity amongst their number.

 

 _“Fine!”_ The snap was both verbal and physical, his whim wishing them elsewhere without a moment’s hesitation. “Somewhere abandoned, then!”

 

Picard’s essence burned with the metaphysical implications of crossing time and space in a fraction of a second; he turned once more, not even deigning to contemplate what might await him. As it transpired, it was desert ruins, their crumbled decay comprehensive, yet not without a unique, quiet charm. He was somewhat thankful, yet simultaneously slightly worried, to note the presence of no one other than he and Q in a visible radius.

 

“The last great temple of the Devoraalian civilization – adequate engineers, appalling bureaucrats. Wiped themselves out four hundred years in via a particularly savage civil war. Have I impressed you yet, Picard?”

 

The Captain, who had taken to inspecting the former place of worship, fascinated gaze following the hand that skimmed an archaic sandstone column, was quickly pulled from archaeological contemplations at the deity’s cool words. Clarity sang to him on a heated breeze, the peace of the desert clearing his mind to a degree it hadn’t managed since he’d first seen this bizarre individual on his viewscreen. His face softened considerably, before he entertained a gentle frown instead; he doubted it would serve him well to appear self-satisfied, even if he actually wasn’t.

 

“You can stop now.” It was a soft but firm command.

 

“Stop what?” It was a cool snap, though his gaze shone with the faintest blaze of intrigue.

 

“Testing me.”

 

Q growled irritably, flopping down on a flat rock ten feet hence with comprehensive petulance. Fury laced his glare, nestled somewhere in the midst of a soul-deep doubt that did precious little to relax his companion.

 

“You intend – pointlessly, I might add – to try and _save_ me,” he exclaimed, quietly enough that Picard abandoned his perusal of ancient architecture to approach him. “You are attempting to turn a span of time you cannot even _conceive_ of into something vaguely purposeful, and I still don’t quite grasp _why_ , Captain – even now, you have no conception of my capabilities, yet you opted to continue this charade when you had every opportunity to quit.”

 

Picard emitted a soft sigh, hoisting himself cautiously onto a taller, adjacent stone, mindful of the effects of friction upon the now bare skin beneath his khaki shorts.

 

“I made a vow, Q,” he said solemnly. The alien scoffed heartily, unwilling to entertain the notion that all this was built on a singular promise made by a man who had no real idea of anything, much less the magnitude of the endeavour he was undertaking.

 

“ _Please_ – don’t be so damned pious,” he bit out caustically. “In my experience, Picard, there are two reactions to omnipotence – terror, and desire. Four billion years, and I’ve either been a walking nightmare or a dream factory, capable of granting the grandest desires of those exceptional enough to win my favour – as you can probably imagine, precious few have managed it. You’re clearly not clever enough to experience the former… therefore, I had to ensure you weren’t the latter. I am not your wish fulfilment, and that simple human brain of yours is bursting with interests, desires, philosophies and dreams to hedonistically indulge – yet you remain disenchanted by such prospects!”

 

A gentle grimace twisted across the Captain’s distinguished features, and he became aware that he felt desperately sorry for this being, who had detached himself so thoroughly from mortals that he assumed they were all created with equal greed. He didn’t doubt that many in his position would be obeying Q’s precise expectations, and he held hypothetical contempt for every single one of them.

 

“I’m not here to be _impressed_ , Q.” It was a stolid statement, cut with a warmth the god had barely ever encountered.

 

“Evidently not, no,” Q agreed dryly, purposely glancing up at their surroundings. Picard smiled slightly, his head shaking.

 

“Don’t misunderstand me – this is _incredible_ ,” he admitted, casting wonder towards the lost city. “I’m only saying that it’s unnecessary. This isn’t something I, or anyone remotely civil, should require reimbursement for – I’m attempting it because it’s _worth it._ ”

 

Sand swirled into miniature vortexes at their feet at Q’s tumult, his lips parted in speechlessness. How could he be of such value? He had never heard such _nonsense_ –

 

“You’re not afraid, and you have no intent to use me.” The fact was hushed by the sheer inconceivability of its existence. “What the hell _are_ you, then? You must want _something_ –”

 

“I do – you to survive,” the human replied clearly, gently honest, ensuring the deity absorbed his every sentiment by locking down his urgent stare. “No need for theatrics, nor grandiose locations – frankly, I don’t even require a fresh cup of Earl Grey. All I want, Q, is for you to desire your own continued existence, in all your extraordinary capacity.”

 

Q choked on a sob, and the ruins they basked beneath sprang afresh at the avowing of a cosmically insignificant mortal. Picard marvelled at the lush oasis that spontaneously developed before his eyes; within moments, the temple was restored, standing as majestic and imposing as it once had amongst a fertile grassland, a crude but whimsical fountain completing the paradise. He went to level Q with a light sarcasm, only to find him as awed as he himself was.

 

“You know, I could have _sworn_ I specified something about theatrics,” he paraphrased wearily, nevertheless amused.

 

“Emotional response.” It was a dismissal, but Q’s tone had taken on a hitherto unknown gentility as he gazed upon the rebuilt structure. “I’m beginning to think that the more extraordinary amongst us is _you_ , Jean-Luc.”

 

Picard beamed silently, absolutely dubious of such claims.

 

“Oh, I very much doubt that,” he murmured, eyes sparkling. “But I do hope that, in time, you can come to consider me a friend, if I’m apparently extraordinary.”

 

Q regarded him darkly, though with little of the force such a gesture had conveyed earlier in the day, dramatically banishing the conviction that there was a rather large part of him that already did.

 

_‘Friend’? By the Continuum…_

He had never been close to such a familial concept, across the span of innumerate generations; it sat a little too comfortably in his chest, aflame with something suspiciously like the merest whisper of happiness. It settled in far too rapidly, beginning to dim the brilliance of his omnipresent death trap – for a fraction of a second, he allowed it, and the ghost of his first smile in twenty thousand years touched his lips.

 

“Don’t push it, human.”

 

Picard chuckled quietly, finally believing that just maybe, this quest wasn’t as pointless as he had assumed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #SpaceBFFs #AlsoKindOfSpaceBFs 
> 
> Up next time: Wherein friends share words, trust and history (of the distinctly non-Roman/Devoraalian variety), and we revisit a not-hypernova for undisclosed reasons. Do look forward to it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein parallels are drawn, an immutable bond deepens, pterodactyls have an odd fascination with Starfleet's finest, and a shining example of humanity refuses to carpe diem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... So I'm still useless at updating, to the surprise of no one ever. xD In my defence, I'm trying to do university research, apply for loans, do a 9-5 and contend with a considerable fascination regarding Ironstrange, all of which has significantly distracted me (I blame the fucking Russos, and I don't just mean for Ironstrange - I'm still dead from that whole film a month later). I also rewrote this entirely as it didn't feel quite right, so there's that too. Give me a few weeks, and we'll get this shit finished, honestly. :)
> 
> This chapter sees a significant broadening of the friendship between Q and JLP, the beginning of something far more deep and meaningful, and both of them being entirely confused over the latter. This is the most reclusive part thus far - we're pretty much entirely alone with our boys and their emotions here, and I hope it narrows down your worldview as much as it does theirs. There's also a tiny callback to my other Qcard fic on here, The Game, although this tale is entirely unconnected to it - we're going full meta four years later, my friends. Do let me know what you think, if you're still sticking with my useless updating schedule! :)

If succeeding in this endeavour wasn’t so damned important _,_ Picard pondered silently, staring down at a glittering alien megacity from its highest rooftop on his third day of being offered the universe, it really would be the adventure of a lifetime.

 

The megalopolis’s lights streaked across the landscape in a faint discordant glow, the distinct hum that came hand-in-hand with dense populations and advanced technology thrumming beneath their human forms. The Captain glanced across at Q, who was periodically sipping white wine, an aura of lemon neon briefly stealing across his neutral expression. Magenta instead flashed upon him a moment later, courtesy of the bar’s obnoxious lightshow, and Picard noted a mild contentment, one that he’d yet to see the like of; Q was quiet, contemplative, allowing his companion to bask in the planet’s urban sprawl, but he was _comfortable_. The human allowed himself a small, pleased smile. They’d spent the past fifty hours chatting between extraordinary locations, about everything and nothing – Q’s ventures throughout time, of the beings he’d encountered, the locations he’d surveyed, the things he’d created, destroyed, renewed. He’d recounted none of it with much fondness, little sparkle coming to his gaze the whole time, but Picard imagined it was incomparable to have someone simply _listen_ , and _care_ , when he had never experienced either before.

 

“Stop it,” Q drawled, not deigning to glance at him, and Picard blinked.

 

“Stop what?”

 

“ _Thinking_. The sooner you accept your own stupidity, the more content you’ll be.”

 

It was tempting to snap a response, though he had little difficulty in tempering such a desire; he was a diplomat, and Q’s words held none of the bite they had two afternoons ago, thus he sighed instead at the god’s smirk. Despite their idle chatter, Q had offered him nothing of an overly personal nature – he still knew preciously little of the being before him, and he’d begun to suspect that such topics were off-limits.

 

Still, perhaps in his newfound calm, afresh with implied trust in the one person who had yet to give up on him… Picard took yet another gambit in their brief acquaintance, and spoke freely.

 

“It occurs that despite our conversations, my knowledge of you is limited.” He deliberately addressed the twinkling nightscape, though his peripheral vision couldn’t fail to note the knees that curled in slightly tighter, the stiffening of his friend’s posture within the confines of his spherical seat. Regret struck, hard – he had no wish to set them back, valuing intensely the slightly more relaxed attitude Q had begun to display.

 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have –”

 

“What do you want to know?” Q’s voice wore titanium.

 

“Nothing that you’re not comfortable sharing,” the Captain assured quietly. “Nothing at all, necessarily.”

 

Q offered him a look of weariness, lips pursing – he knew this human well enough by now to understand, however unlikely the concept, that his enquiry wasn’t an attempt to ensure his own safety. Picard held a curious belief in him, apropos of little he had offered to grant him such security, and Q wasn’t in the business of reassurance. He relented with a dash of bitterness, uncertain as to why he was remotely willing to acquiesce.

 

Picard stared at the summoned concept with intrigue; it appeared to be a miniature spatial phenomena, hovering at the heart of the deserted bar, though it bore no resemblance to Q’s death trap. It was gaseous, holding little discernible shape; solidified stardust was his scientific mind’s best estimate, though it was infinitely more complex, flickering a thousand colours a moment, pulsed with what appeared to be a biological network of nerves. It was a dichotomy, its base a dulled grey, its glistening spectrum eternal – it was unlike anything Picard had ever witnessed, though it caused him a strange sorrow, as though he somehow knew exactly what he was supposed to expect of it.

 

“Should be black,” Q commented, tone blank, eyes narrowed. “Not quite emotionally stable, as you can imagine.”

 

Picard jolted, suddenly acknowledging how he understood it.

 

“This is… you?”

 

“Mm,” Q muttered, glare intensifying at his own image, “though I no more identify with it than you would.”

 

Ice claimed the Captain at the objectivity, eyes flickering to the deity’s.

 

“You’re not –”

 

“Adopting human form for your benefit?” Q finished sharply. “Your arrogance belies you, Picard.”

 

Picard’s gaze deepened, a sigh of resignation teetering upon his lips, trying to convey his true intention.

 

“I was merely going to inform you that if you are, there’s no need,” he explained softly. “I would significantly prefer you take a form more appealing to you, whether that’s your natural one or otherwise.”

 

Q swallowed inaudibly, unwilling to entertain that the words stemmed from the kindness they appeared to – he hadn’t shown his true form to many through the ages, but those he had hadn’t ever accepted it with such magnanimity, too disturbed or enamoured by his capacities to ignore it entirely in favour of whatever body his whim presented them with. How could this man be so _accepting?_ Picard dealt with oddly-shaped aliens most days, the deity presumed, but that didn’t excuse the grace of unquestionably dealing with their dramatic power difference, as though he had simply _trusted_ him to utilise his talents beneficially!

 

Q stared hard at him, trying to decide whether he was wholeheartedly wonderful, or just too lacking intellectually to give proper thought to how terribly wrong this could all go; either way, the acknowledgement that Picard simply wished him to exist in whichever format he chose did absolutely nothing to dispel the slight warmth that had sparked within his essence the moment the human had pronounced them friends.

 

“I’m fine with this, thanks,” he dismissed coolly, more content to use his execution device than he was to admit that this form, the man he had befriended within it, had become something of a comfort.

 

“Fair enough,” Picard answered, smiling. “Why human, out of interest? Although I assumed you may be maintaining it to allow me to identify more with you –”

 

“As if you _could_ ,” Q growled.

 

“– You mentioned last night that you hadn’t encountered one before.” Picard continued as though he hadn’t interrupted, which only served to annoy his companion further.

 

“Humans are desperately simple to rip apart, Captain.”

 

Picard grimaced, a dark silence stretching between them for a long moment. Q, intimately familiar with absolute quiet, once more stared at his natural form for something to occupy himself with, as deeply as he detested what it represented.

 

“We’re darker, generally, for camouflage. Allows mulling in deep space, without having to consider casual observers.” He murmured it almost to himself, but the astute human rarely let such telling monologues slip past him.

 

_“’We’?”_

Shadows sliced across eternal vision, and Picard’s breath caught in his chest.

 

“Q, I didn’t realise –”

 

“They’re not dead,” the god cut in harshly. “Although it might be kinder if they were.”

Q cursed his uncharacteristic indiscretion and dismissed the notion that he _wanted_ to explain everything to this human, snapping his fingers so roughly that friction frazzled between his simulated digits for a split second; his own form was gone, and in lieu of it perched hundreds of almost identical ones, splayed across the surface of the bar, on its stools, atop tables, surrounding them almost completely. Picard surveyed them in wonder, anguish eclipsing him at his interpretation – their basic configuration was identical, though they were instead a desperately pallid beige, far fewer flashes rippling across their forms.

 

“Are they ill, Q?” The query was grave, though Q merely snorted.

 

“Yes, with a lack of imagination. It’s terminal, unfortunately.” It was a sarcastic hiss, and he sprang up, defiant, beginning to pace through their ranks – he cast furious glares at each one as he did, as if they weren’t just projections. “They content themselves with withering away in the Continuum, our personal dimension – they’re as bored as I am, Picard, though they don’t have the _guts_ to do anything about it. They’re wholly stagnant, happy to dictate to the universe and create inane _rules_ , when they could alter reality to their collective whim – but no, they’d rather stare into the ether for the rest of eternity, because they can’t cope with change. The living death of a vastly advanced species.”

 

His eyes filed across them in a heartbeat with categorical disgust.

 

“As you can imagine, they don’t particularly care for the adventurous: I assure you, the feeling is _entirely_ mutual.”

 

He clicked viciously, and each Q exploded in a small, spectral shower, whatever their biology consisted of gone in a breath. Picard winced at the coldness of it, aching with abject sympathy for his people’s contempt.

 

“I’m sorry.” His utterance was sincere, pained.

 

“Hardly your fault, is it?” Q replied scathingly.

 

“Nevertheless.”

 

Q nodded, his tired features alight with the vaguest of smiles.

 

“Thank you.” His tone adopted a level of softness, largely conjured to help mask his annoyance at the fact that the city had warmed several degrees via a human’s gentility. He summoned more wine to his hand and downed it rather quickly, much to Picard’s consternation.

 

“A fine wine should be appreciated,” he chided lightly, his face falling with disapproval. “My family haven’t spent countless generations growing it for you to chug a vintage without considering its flavour.”

 

“Your family grows wine?” Q asked, glad of the opportunity to ignore his darkened mood. “Why aren’t you wandering between grapevines, then?”

 

Picard emitted a soft chuckle.

 

“I can’t think of anything _worse_ ,” he exclaimed honestly. “It’s a noble profession, I suppose, but it certainly isn’t for me. They didn’t approve, of course, but how could I remain there, Q, when there’s so much _more?_ ”

_Indeed_ , Q agreed silently, viewing this extraordinary man anew; there was a universe of difference between them, but somehow, he had managed to become inextricably entangled with a being who fundamentally understood the nature of standing out, of being so radically different from his family, and of pursuing his own goals irrespectively.

 

“Do you ever… _regret_ _it?”_ Q’s question was almost desperate, his posture leaning forwards with interest, his general restraint quite forgotten. Picard’s gaze was benevolent, though his conviction held entirely steadfast, his irises flickering with gentle amusement.

 

“Not even slightly.”

 

Q offered him a crystal flute of Picardian Reserve, unspeakably glad that they were equally nonplussed, as though his friend’s response would have validated his own in any way.

 

“To being the black sheep.” It was a mild adherence, and Picard grinned, clinking glasses in a metaphorical toast to their independence. Q found himself quite unwilling to relinquish the warm smile that threatened to command his own lips; he cast caution to the timid breeze of the planet’s midnight and allowed it to settle for a long moment. It made his borrowed jaw slightly ache – a bizarre notion, given that he’d never possessed a human mandible himself, and that such pains were therefore functionally impossible – but it also struck a match in the deepest, loneliest corners of his soul, the fire pitiful, but very much ablaze.

 

“This is the family vintage,” Picard acknowledged, oddly astonished, privately enjoying the god’s foreign contentment as he sipped. Dryness washed upon his palate, the soft apricot brightening to acidic citrus upon his tongue – he had few particularly fond memories of home, though his mother’s gentle beam shone clearly at the forefront of his mind, but it brought him unavoidably there nonetheless, even from the outer reaches of the northern Beta Quadrant.

 

“You continue to surprise me, Jean-Luc.” Picard’s eyes fluttered open from their reminiscence, to see Q’s alight upon him with curiosity.

 

“I’m glad,” Picard remarked, making a valiant attempt not to lose a small part of himself to the permanent wonder that laced through that brilliant gaze. Galaxies unfolded within them, constellations aligning at his every renewed showcase of their acquaintance, and an awkward murmur dragged itself from his throat – dammit, this was _absurd_. Contrary to his own advice, he swallowed his grandfather’s finest champagne in far more of a haste than he was used to doing, choking down a cough and offering Q a placid look.

 

“Hypocrite,” the deity commented idly, obligingly refilling it, trying to ignore the unusual behaviour he’d just witnessed when he was dangerously close to almost enjoying himself for the first time in twenty millennia.

 

Picard recovered himself quickly, dismissing his unnatural lack of self-assurance callously; it had been those damned _memories_ , coaxing him to let his ever-present guard slip just slightly. It was hardly his fault that Q’s quiet genius was enrapturing, the beginnings of his transformation springing a mad hope at Picard’s very centre –

 

“You’re doing that damned _thinking_ thing again.”

 

Picard nearly grinned at the inky, sporadically-lit megacity as he shook his head; trust the entity to bring him crashing down, stirring up a unique irritation deep within him that provided the most efficient of distractions.

 

“All apologies. I’ll try and lessen my mental processes.”

 

Q rolled his eyes at the dry retort, one of his own effortlessly rising from the ashes of his essence.

 

“You probably shouldn’t. You’re already crushingly dull.”

 

Two pairs of eyes, so vastly different in their perceptions, strove pointedly to the bustling world far below, both battling back the thought that this conversation had devolved into what couldn’t reasonably be denied as _teasing_.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“You really are an awful cyclist,” Q observed wryly the morning after, handing the grateful Captain a bottle of something chilled as they set down their bikes on a rugged mountain vista. Picard cast him a sidelong glare, exasperated.

 

“It’s the pterodactyls,” he drawled, half-breathless. “Wasn’t particularly expecting their attempts to feast on me. Leaves one rather less prepared than they’d like to be for a casual bike ride.”

 

A chorus of ferocious roars boomed out above him, and Picard directed a dry look upwards to the leathery beasts. He drank deep, lips teasing into a slight smile at the bergamot that sang upon his tastebuds, the bloom of faint spice that quickly succeeded it.

 

“Earl Gray.” He laughed madly, flopping down against the mountain’s soft curve, barely able to absorb the madness of the affair even in the wake of all he had seen. “In the _Jurassic era_.”

 

“I blame your aversion to visiting the occupied past,” Q said primly, leaning back onto folded arms to survey the ancient sky. “You wouldn’t have had any such issues in third century Rome.”

 

“I’ll bear that in mind next time,” Picard responded, droll, artificial heart slowed to a more acceptable level for the hydrating break. “This really is quite breathtaking, Q. I’ve never seen such a clear sky.”

 

Q murmured a half-chuckle, countenance roiling with disbelief.

 

“Yes, that’s _absolutely_ the most picturesque thing you’ve seen recently, I’m sure.”

 

Picard shifted slightly, reaching beneath his spine to remove a small, sharp rock. He tossed it carelessly aside and settled once more, taking a moment to just breathe. The air was pure, clean, within his lungs, and he exhaled fully, thoroughly enjoying the simple pleasure of such a basic act.

 

“I don’t expect you to appreciate such notions, Q,” he began gently, “but we mortals, terribly asinine as we are, sometimes simply enjoy stopping to take it all in.”

 

The deity snorted, vexed.

 

“How wonderful it must be, to exist in such a perfunctory manner, and to be _content_ with it.” It was almost wistful, missing the jagged, sarcastic banter of their general conversation, and Picard blinked at the canvas high above him at the uncharacteristic reply.

 

“Well, some are less so than others,” he explained. “If I’m honest, Q, I’m really quite dull.”

 

“Thank the Continuum you’ve clarified that. I had absolutely no idea.” Q’s mutter could have turned the forest to spontaneous desert, so caustically dry as it was. Picard couldn’t help a fond grin, pleased to see the return of his cooler character – he couldn’t imagine a Q without such acidity, however much happier he was seemingly becoming. They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a brief moment, Q allowing Picard to absorb the moment, the Captain silently grateful for the momentary quiet.

 

“Puts things into perspective, does it not?” He offered eventually.

 

“Mm? What _are_ you talking about?” The entity responded, as though annoyed at the abandonment of their brief peace. _Perish_ _the_ _thought_ , _Jean-Luc_ , Picard added mentally, amused.

 

“Human sensibility, I’m sure,” he dismissed softly. “To these creatures, I’m an intruder, one who was never meant to grace their world. Makes one feel rather small, that’s all.”

 

Q swallowed heavily, eyes determinedly affixed to the swarming pterodactyls overhead.

 

“Yes,” he said faintly. “ _Human_ _sensibility_ , naturally.”

 

Picard inwardly seethed at his own insensitivity, too swept away by the majesty of their destination to consider his words with his usual cautious aplomb.

 

“… I’m sorry, Q, I shouldn’t have –”

 

Endless eyes, a rich, assumed hue of chocolate, momentarily locked to his, flashing caramel in their hurt.

 

“Let’s not pretend you have any _idea_ , Picard, of what it’s like to seem so incontrovertibly alien to those you encounter that they make no attempts to establish any sort of acquaintance with you.” His tone was fire and ice in perfect contrast, half-aggravated and wholly bitter. “There must be at least a thousand people aboard your damned vessel – as though _you_ , of all people, have any concept of solitude!”

 

Picard turned onto his side, propped himself up on an elbow and simply stared at the fantastical being before him, vastly more enrapturing than anything the Jurassic period could regale him with.

 

“You stand as an icon, Q; you rise above all, omnipotent, untouchable. Who and what you are, whether you mean for it to, intimidates others – you are to obeyed, and thus no one ever really _knows_ you, or gets to peek beneath the mask… you’re almost more idea than individual. Doesn’t stop them wondering, perhaps even caring a little on occasion, but the barrier we must present makes us incomprehensible. They don’t understand me, Q, and they certainly don’t understand _you_.”

 

Q’s essence quivered, even the errant, pessimistic thought that Picard’s clever tongue was simply spinning words to his accord not enough to dismiss the harmony that thrummed through his being – he _understood_ , albeit on a far less significant level, what it meant to be alone. He forced himself to blink back the tears that had sprung to his gaze, the connection fostering between them threatening to strip him of all plausible sense of self-preservation – how ironic, to be considering such notions when his execution awaited so sedately, several eons and a generous handful of light-years hence… an execution he had been mulling on with alarmingly little frequency of late. The endgame refused to alter, but a possibility that had had yet to occur sang a whispered symphony, and he doubted it would take too much to swell it to a full-blown orchestration.

 

 _He is insufficient to fill eternity, fool,_ the not-hypernova in his mind’s eye pointed out coldly.

 

 _Do you think I don’t know that?_ He snapped back, restraining himself barely from trembling.

 

“Q?” Picard’s murmur of his name was impossibly kind, and he smashed down a desire to banish him to somewhere deadly, to put a definitive halt to the conflict that surged beneath his human form. “You don’t need to speak, if it’s painful. Let me talk.”

 

“How foreign a concept,” Q began archly, losing the will to continue his mockery as the brazen Captain’s fingers curled around his own. He looked down at them, devoid of both speech and thought, the mere act of someone voluntarily offering him such contact enough to render him wholeheartedly immobile.

 

“I can let go, if you’d prefer?” No application of pressure – a request, nothing more.

 

Against any notion of better judgement he had ever possessed, Q’s fingers danced with agonising apprehension against his companion’s; he permitted trust in his feelings for once in his absurdly long lifespan and claimed the slightly withered hand absolutely, failing totally in exiling the warmth that had developed into a constant, but that had now risen considerably in mere moments. A herd of far Triceratops glanced up with intrigue at the plentiful vegetation that had instantaneously appeared, beginning to munch with a morose kind of joy.

 

Picard smiled in delight, returning his eyes to the midday sky.

 

“A universe of possibilities,” he muttered to himself gently.

 

 _Indeed_ , Q agreed silently, heart content for the first instance in what felt like forever. _And I can’t help but thinking that they all revolve around a tiny Frenchman who’s in far over his bald head._

“Something like that,” Q murmured. “Tell me about them, Jean-Luc. Not all of them, just the ones that matter.”

 

“They _all_ matter,” Picard corrected quietly. “I think you’d enjoy a tale of my second officer, though, Data – he’s as much a fish out of water as we are, Q. A fascinating first impression, truly…”

 

The Captain began a warm saga of the emotionless android, of the engineering boyfriend he shouldn’t care to be with and his journey to humanity. They whiled away a sedate afternoon on a prehistoric mountainside, discussing the senior staff, of their personalities, quirks, talents, and Q listened raptly, not remotely understanding why such inactivity was so enchanting, clinging to the hand of a human as though it was his only tether to sanity.

 

It was, of course, though he’d sooner spray his atoms across light years than ever _explain_ such things.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Despite the utter majesty of the crystalline volcano they were rambling around the summit of, the vivid electric blue of the shimmering magma far below and the twinkle of twin moons bathing them in a brilliant glow, Picard couldn’t help but pay full attention to his deep-seated irritation.

 

“I am _not_ surfing down this damned thing!” He snapped furiously, glaring daggers at his amused companion. Q had evolved considerably over the course of their six-day acquaintance – they had held hands several more times during the explanation of memories, the god opening up, coming to terms with the human’s acceptance of him, trusting him further and further as time ticked past. A shrewd thought struck him – perhaps this was Q’s way of attempting to rid himself of him early, though it had been thirty hours since the deity’s last mention of his death trap, and he was beginning to hope beyond all semblance of his sanity that that _meant_ something. Surely he’d shown him _something_ worth existing for by now, something that made eternity even just _slightly_ worthwhile? He certainly smiled sometimes, now, seemed genuinely pleased to be in Picard’s company…

 

Meeting, befriending, nurturing and travelling with the entity had been the adventure of a thousand lifetimes; their connection ran light-fathoms deep, and Picard was utterly horrified at the thought that perhaps it still wasn’t enough. To lose Q, after all of this, would rip him apart – yet he had no real desire to _ask_ upon his decision, to have his universe shattered earlier than was remotely necessary. He’d been preparing arguments in his head since the very beginning, if Q had decided to render their contract null and void earlier than he’d vowed; now, they screeched at him almost constantly, a permanent negotiation swirling consistently through the mind that his omniscient companion had thankfully vowed not to peek at.

 

Q’s comfort meant the worlds to him, but it had brought on a quiet mischief, a spark that had been tragically lacking in previously dead eyes – a curious sense of easily lethal fun. The Captain trusted him beyond the scope of reality itself, but he’d voluntarily use the not-hypernova _himself_ before he took a surfboard ride down a Q-forsaken glass mountain.

 

“Oh come _on_ , Jean-Luc!” Q sing-songed, gaze alight – it wasn’t quite excitement, but a reasonable interpretation. “All of these tales of your adventurous youth, and nothing to back them up with! Do you _honestly_ think I’d let any harm come to you, at least for the next eighteen hours?”

 

Picard visibly shuddered, teeth clenching at the casual reminder of their short time left together. He stomped angrily across gleaming, barely-marked paths, feeling miniature cracks splay out from beneath his hiking boots.

 

“I’m not interested, Q! How many times must we discuss this?!”

 

Q sighed with theatrical volume.

 

“You must be the only being in all of creation to spend a week with a god and not request any remote form of personal enjoyment!”

 

Picard’s gaze clipped across to his, those honeyed eyes he had so grown to care for shining in absolute bewilderment.

 

“I seem to recall you specifically testing me to ensure I _wasn’t_ using you for that.” His tone softened somewhat. “That isn’t why I’m not doing it, Q. I just… don’t want to. It isn’t my kind of _fun_ , alright? I’ve very much enjoyed our time together, which I believe counts immeasurably.”

 

Quiet contemplation stole across the entity, smile fading.

 

“So, you won’t indulge a dying man?”

 

Nausea lurched to the human’s throat, panic sprung to his countenance – he’d thought they’d gotten _past_ this, that there had at least been a _chance_ –

 

“I thought you’d…”

 

He trailed off, broken, recoiling several steps as though physically struck. Q’s brow creased, a deep frown curling upon his lips as he approached.

 

“Presumptuous of you,” he murmured bitterly. “I have… entertained the notion of not using it –”

 

It was a lie of cosmic proportions, from a being who could fully understand such dimensions – he had been considering his potential fate ever since their acquaintance had begun, but he had started recently to look upon it with significantly reduced fondness. This lowly human had offered him nothing of any remote value on the cosmic scale – he’d seen nothing new during their time together, not a damned thing that had convinced him that the people of the universe were worthy of his time, none of those they’d encountered attempting in any manner to acquaint themselves with him on any meaningful level… but this dull little human had offered him the greatest prize of all, one that even his omniscience had never considered.

 

 _Himself_. Picard was universally inane, atoms-wide across the span of the galactic population, but capable of standing amongst giants – he zoomed through a reality he had no proper conception of, extending the hand of friendship to even beings as hostile and incomprehensible as Q himself, all the while _accepting_ and _encouraging_ and _trusting_ those who could rearrange him from the molecular level upwards. He fascinated Q as little else ever had, and had given him a sense of purpose when he’d never had a lick of one; Picard _cared_ , as no singular other being had ever bothered to, and good _gods_ , so did he, so damned much, so much more than he _should_ for a being with a speck of a lifespan…

 

“’Entertained’?” Picard’s voice was hollow, and it sent an essence-deep chill through his friend. “I thought we’d gotten somewhere, Q, I – you _can’t_ just –”

 

He stumbled further back, his anguish utterly failing to take note of his topographical position, Q’s mind in far too great a state of tumult to heed it either.

 

“You can’t just _die,_ you bastard!” Picard spat, tears burning. “Hasn’t any of this meant a damned thing to you?! You –”

 

His knees weakened, his footing consequently uneven, the Captain’s lingering insult never saw end; he plummeted without realisation, with horrific speed, to the lava far below.

 

Q’s breath staggered anxiously, a split second of frenetic acknowledgement coursing through his unparalleled mind. A frantic click sounded, sharp enough to slice diamond; a heartbeat later, Picard was rescued, shriek dying as quickly as it had sounded, their location now sufficiently set back from the rim of the volcano.

 

“You _moron!”_ The god hissed, shuddering at the proximity his sole link to sanity had had to a substance that could melt his bones to calcified liquid. The human took in his return to safety with several gasped breaths, collapsing to the flattened piste they now rested atop.

 

“Are you so stupid that you can’t even account for your own _steps?!”_ Q fussily fixed his clothing, already scorched merely at the stifling heat’s aura, with a trembling hand. Picard silently made peace with his own continued existence before he levelled the entity with a cold glare.

 

“Thank you,” he murmured, “but had it not been for your senseless monologue, I wouldn’t have been sufficiently distracted –”

 

“It doesn’t matter!” Q burst out, furiously, very soul fraught with residual despair. “What if I hadn’t seen you? What if you’d just fallen?!”

 

Picard’s eyes wore a weary resignation, a desperate defeat in cool azure.

 

“I fail to see why you _care_ , Q. You’re never going to see me again after tomorrow,” he whispered. “I’ll go back to my sedate life, knowing that I couldn’t save the greatest being I’ve ever encountered. Look where we’ve _been_ , Q, all that you’ve shown me, and I can’t even repay the damned favour.”

 

Q gaped, breathless against the implosion of pain from his darkest depths; he knelt beside him, once again grasping his limp hands with urgency. Their fingers shook madly against one another’s, the god’s stare beseeching him to meet it.

 

“Jean-Luc, it has been my _honour_.” He had never spoken a truer sentence, voice barely even. “My people have always believed that mortals aren’t worth a damn, too unintelligent, too limited… they’re wrong, every single _one_ of them. You owe me _nothing_ , you fool – you never have, and you never will, and yet you’ve offered me so much anyway.”

 

A watery smile painted a vague portrait upon human lips.

 

“Not quite enough, though, evidently.”

 

Q shook his head, soft bark of a chuckle dropping from his throat.

 

“Vastly more than I deserve,” he vowed, fierce grip tightening further.

 

“Liar,” Picard said hoarsely, choking down a harsh sob. “Don’t you lie to my damned _face_ –”  

 

Q followed an indubitably human instinct and roughly pulled his friend into a crushing embrace, unable to stand the distance a breath longer; they clung to one another, both screaming inwardly at the unfairness of it all.

 

“ _Q_.” It was an unrepentant plea. “ _Don’t do this_. If this has meant _anything_ to you –”

 

A single tear slipped to Picard’s scalp, eternal eyes jamming closed in protest, the heart he didn’t possess cleanly breaking nevertheless.

 

“ _Idiot_ ,” Q breathed tenderly. “It has meant _everything_ to me.”

 

He drew back infinitesimally, gaze blurred beneath barely-opened lids. A cosmos of sirens screeched every plausible warning as the ghost of a smile claimed Picard’s lips, just before they claimed his own.

 

The volcano beside them spontaneously exploded in the exact same instance as the god perched upon it; the softest of clicks kept the lava flow pointed directly upwards, captured in an infinite moment of stillness as he lost himself entirely to feeling, to the sudden filling of a  void he’d hadn’t ever realised existed, to _completion_. A tongue demanded entrance, his mouth and spirit quivering with equal ferocity against it.

 

 _Two minutes ago, you could have lost this_ , his essence reminded him gently, shivers racing along his human spine in despair at the concept. _You stand to lose it forever, tomorrow._

 

 _How absurdly mortal,_ his treacherous sense of self-hatred spat back, just loudly enough to inject a bolt of sanity straight through his form – it never failed to triumph over any burst of light presented to it. _Everything has its time, everything ends – and you’re overdue, Q._ _No need to drag him down with you, imbecile!_

 

He snarled in panic, dragging himself roughly from his companion – by the Continuum, what the hell was he _doing?!_ He’d never even _considered_ such acts – what was this man doing to him?!

 

“Q?” Picard asked hesitantly, and the god shuddered at the pronounced rouge of his lips, the dusted flush that peppered his cheeks. “Are you alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –”

 

“Didn’t you?” _Yes, latch onto something tangible, something that makes far more sense than this absurdity –_

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Picard corrected softly, the electric hue of the stagnant lava unavoidably illuminating the hurt that permeated through his handsome features. “I didn’t consider our cultural differences, I don’t even know if that’s something you do –”

 

Why did he have to mention their obvious _differences_ , now of all times?!

 

Q trembled worthlessly, his essence a cataclysm of devastation, a million colours, sounds, _concepts_ of what the hell to do blasting across his every molecule. He had to _think_ , had to consider the implications of what in the name of the Continuum had just occurred –

 

“Q,” Picard whispered softly, edging closer, “you’re scaring me. I’m sorry if it was inappropriate –”

 

A strangled noise of anguish pierced the air, and his mind roared protests as his fingers unconsciously rose.

 

“I need to be alone,” he babbled, avoiding the human’s concern, wincing against the happiness it cast within him. “Just, just… need to _think_ –”

 

Digits snapped, and the counter died upon the Captain’s lips as they vanished, simultaneously but to entirely different parts of the universe. He shook terribly, eyes glazed over as he stared, long and hard, at the phenomena he’d designed to kill him, the departure of Picard a physical ache in his metaphysical essence. They were connected, now, doubtlessly; entangled in a hurricane too grand for them both, of unimaginable power for one and a promise of forever for the other, a promise he was growing less and less certain he could bear to refuse the man who had offered him a second chance when all hope had been abandoned.

 

He curled in on himself at the fresh, wondrous memory of moments earlier, when his every care, every notion of anger, meaninglessness and solitude had ceased to exist, as though they had never remotely bothered him in the first place – but they _had_ , and they still _were,_ and however devastating the acknowledgement, Jean-Luc Picard was insufficient to fill the span of eternity.

 

Fists clenched, agony lancing through him – he should use the damned thing, right now. Jump in and forget what the _hell_ had just happened. He would never have to quantify it, deal with its magnitude –

 

He dismissed it, instantly – he owed his friend far more than a coward’s death, lacking even a decent farewell. He owed him the _universe_ , a realm he was far too familiar with; its vast emptiness, as usual, left options incredibly clear.

 

He used it, or he didn’t, and therefore have to prise apart the fact that the human had _kissed_ him, and that he had spectacularly enjoyed it.

 

He cast a distant glance, concentration rather more acute than it generally needed to be – ah, _there_. Twelve light-years away hovered the _Enterprise_ , sufficiently away from the not-hypernova, but very much in the vicinity, unmoving, awaiting her Captain. Perhaps Riker had some form of use after all.

 

He cast a longing, hard glance at his death trap – there was, possibly, one being aboard that ship that could _understand_ , could decode all this for him… and it was surely worth a go, after every other damned concession he’d made regarding his Captain.

 

_One last attempt, or we’re done here._

 

He sighed, spirit-deep with exhaustion.

 

“I’m coming back,” he told the phenomena quietly, defiantly. “I assure you of that.”

 

He blinked, a despicably human affectation, and disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Q GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THERE OR SO HELP ME  
>  (I know, right? I give you nothing for six weeks and leave it there. I'm slightly sorry).
> 
> Up next (in the final official chapter, dear god):  
> Wherein friends seek counsel, and one of them comes to a decision for the ages...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Good Q, how I have missed you all. Once again, sincere apologies for this taking so long - essentially, I was attempting to fit vastly too much into this final chapter, so I have once again split it in half. (I know, I'm sorry!) This work had come to mean a lot to me, both personally in its creation and through your kind words, and I'd be doing us both a disservice if it didn't pack the depth of emotional punch required. Trust me, you'll reap the benefits of it being more coherent - and as an additional bonus, I've now largely written the end, so the distance between chapters will most certainly be shorter! Also, I've rewarded your patience already - Daforge are finally here, and this chapter is absurdly long.
> 
> This installment is the absolute heart of this tale; it's the most serious yet, but also by far the most important. We're watching Q lose control, but I faithfully promise that the heartbreak will pay off spectacularly. :) I think that, reading it, you'll understand both my delay and the importance of nailing it.
> 
> Do enjoy, and share your thoughts at will, if you'd like to - I have never worked this hard on anything, and would *love* to know your take on it, as it's been rather the challenge. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wherein a god reasserts dominion, a human solves a riddle for the eons (and decides against intergalactic fencing), and two friends consider their futures with two others – or, indeed, if they have any at all… 
> 
> (Bonus info: The author plays canon bingo, and challenges you all to note the sheer width of references herein - they are both subtle and gross! You can have that one for free).

 

 

 

 

When Jean-Luc Picard blinked steadily awake much later, it was to opulence; marbled floors polished to a sheen, monogrammed walls in a pale silver, the most exquisitely sumptuous of silk sheets whispering across bare skin, an expansive balcony beyond – it loudly proclaimed ‘luxury’, and he enjoyed it with a brief smile before his mind painfully reasserted itself.

 

_“Q!”_

 

He lurched from the four-poster with a panicked shout, heart thudding, racing to the palatial _en suite_ and then to the balcony – windowed floor-to-ceiling as it was, the man twisted dimensions for entertainment: it was hardly implausible to assume that perhaps there were blind spots, vernacular angles to reality that his brain couldn’t possibly comprehend –

 

His gaze rapidly swept the sculpted jungle of the courtyard several storeys below, having little appreciation for its aesthetic appeal, or its expansive pool; anguish seized his throat viciously at the notable lack of omnipotent beings amongst the milling humanoids, and he ran for the suite’s door instead, uncaring of the immodesty of his short peach robe.

 

His realisation came in duplicate as it slammed behind him, the first thought ringing painfully in his very essence – he could search every godforsaken crevice of this resort, and not a single facet of any of it would contain the entity he had so come to cherish. Why hide in plain sight, after all, when the entirety of everywhere was one’s personal backyard?

 

The second was no less harsh – if Q had indeed left any clues as to his location, his uncharacteristic fervour had just locked him out of the one place sure to contain them.

 

_“Goddammit!”_

He slammed a desperate palm against the white wood in sheer frustration – what the hell was he supposed to _do?_ The man could be anywhere, any _when –_

The door flashed briefly green, murmuring a gentle, _“welcome back, Captain”_ before swinging sedately open. Picard blinked in bewilderment, entirely failing to notice the holographic _1701_ that denoted the room’s identity, rushing back in before the bio-scan thought better of the offer. There had to be _something_ , for god’s sake, _anything_ that offered him some sort of hint –

 

_Think, you fool – what would he do?_

 

He acknowledged, a prickle of discomfort plodding the length of his spine, that his companion was the very definition of an enigma – it was entirely possible that there was nothing to discover, that he had simply…

 

Picard shook himself stoically, swallowing both the hardened lump that had sprung to his throat and the sheen glazing across his gaze – _no_. Q had been vexed, panicked, but the progress they’d made hadn’t spontaneously vanished – he knew, with complete certainty, that his friend would at the very least have wished him farewell before terminating himself. His fingers instinctively touched lips, still tingling with the essence of unimaginable wonder, the faintest snatch of vanilla – good god, what _had_ he been thinking? Quite aside from terrifying a being that had absolutely no cultural comprehension of the gesture, the thought of unravelling his own reasoning was frankly a can of worms he could quite do without unleashing. The man was undeniably attractive… he emitted a half-strangled laugh, the sound pitched high.

 

_Oh, if only it were so simple, Jean-Luc…_

He sighed softly, giving the room a detailed sweep as he inhaled, attempting to establish some clarity of mind – his apprehension, as desperately pressing as it was, would be of little help. Q understood his temperament absolutely; re-adopting his general tranquillity would be the way forward. He strode quickly to the room’s sturdy desk, rippled black through crystal-white marble, glancing at the hub system – it was blank, and he cleared his throat.

 

“Computer.”

 

It awoke immediately with several bleeps, a holographic display popping up. He smiled just slightly: _One new message_.

 

“Play,” he whispered in trepidation, eyes widening just slightly as a white flash blazed – the computer was gone, and in its wake, a letter sat serenely, in the finest of embossed stationery. He snatched it up instantly, hands trembling at what felt like the molecular level, and began to peruse it; he was horrified by its potential information, but frantic to know nevertheless.

 

**_Jean-Luc,_ **

**_Firstly, I’m not dead, so stop worrying._ **

Picard flattened the note against his heart for a drawn-out moment of boneless relief, choking down tears – he’d _known_ , with his every fibre, but to see evidence of Q’s survival in literal black and white ignited a flagrant hope at his very centre. He drew a marked breath, calmer for the simple confirmation, and cleared his eyes of stubborn tears with the edge of a balled fist.

 

**_Hope your sleep was enjoyable, by the way. Long overdue, I think we can agree._ **

****

A vestige of amusement grasped the Captain – it had taken him the better part of three days to realise, amongst the wonder of a god’s persona and capacities, that Q had been suppressing his biological desires since they’d first begun their week together.

 

_“Did you not think to ask?”_

_“No. I’ve got four days left in this damned universe, Captain – do you genuinely think I have time to watch you **nap?** ”_

He chuckled quietly at the memory, of his typical defiance, of how he had grown past it; two days on, hands tightly enveloped in one another’s on a seafront of crystal waves, he’d spoken softly.

 

_“… I should have asked.”_

_“Unlike you, Q, I’m not prepossessed of telepathy – asked what, my friend?”_

_“Whether you had an issue with losing your biological function. You’ve been so accommodating, and I didn’t even consider_ –”

_“ **Q,** it’s alright. I understand. I can’t imagine you’re used to having to accommodate anyone.”_

He’d smiled softly, with more warmth that the Captain felt he should reasonably be able to contain within his tiny human frame.

_“Indeed not, Jean-Luc. Glad I tried it, just this once.”_

_“As am I.”_

Present Picard’s smile curled upwards to meet a single tear; he turned back to the paper, sniffing softly.

 

**_Apologies first, then: I’m sorry for sending you away. I assure you, it’s nothing personal – you’re an absolute puzzle, and I needed some time apart to work through that, to seek some advice. Congratulations on that, Captain – IQ of 2005, can’t work out why a human kissed me. And yes, I know – telepathy, but I haven’t used it yet, and I rather feel like this is something we need to work out the long way around. Dreadfully dull, but I thought you’d approve._ **

****

Warmth blazed through Picard for the thoughtfulness that had initially been so foreign to the entity – he doubted that even a mind as brilliant as Q’s would have reached a coherent conclusion if he _had_ deigned to secretly probe his psyche, but the fact that he was determined to fathom it himself was wonderfully indicative of the growth he had experienced by the Frenchman’s side.

 

Who could he possibly be consulting, though, when he freely admitted he had no one else? Given the contempt he held for his people, their close-minded attitudes, it surely wasn’t any amongst _them_ …

 

**_The hotel is my secondary apology, by the way – the most luxurious of the western Gamma Quadrant, I’ll have you know! You’ll find the complex very welcoming, especially as you’re in the presidential suite. Eat, drink, try not to worry – avoid the lilac fruit. It won’t kill you, it’s just awful. If you do find yourself becoming a little too contemplative, there’s a competition on in the courtyard – it’s mildly like fencing. You’re French, and I hear you’re rather accomplished at adapting to that which is beyond your comprehension. You won’t go, of course, but it’ll make for a nice view nevertheless._ **

****

Picard strangled down a sob, clutching the ornate paper in a vice grip – he really had thought of everything, despite fully understanding that his companion would be far too concerned to engage in something so inane. A suspiciously familiar feeling burned at his very centre, mechanical heart quivering with quiet cherishment, before he turned back to the exquisite penmanship.

 

**_I think, though, that you might prefer my gift, Jean-Luc – check the top drawer. You’ve given me the warmest of counsels; it’s only fair that I return the favour._ **

****

Picard’s gaze dipped downwards, to the sheen of the carved desk drawer; he wrenched it open, eyes widening at its prize – a commbadge, the command symbol etched into its brass heart. It was as though an old friend, and his insides jumped at the concept of reconnecting with whichever crew member it would link him with. Tightening his fist around it, he read on.

 

**_I have a decision to make, my friend – as, I believe, do you. This will help. I’ll be back for you, I assure you of that – in what capacity, though, I can’t yet say. Give me a few hours, alright?_ **

****

He gasped, elated – there was _hope_. He _had_ offered him something potentially worth living for, then… but a decision? What could _he_ possibly need to decipher, other than how to continue living with himself if he’d ultimately failed? He perused the final few sentences, frantic to further comprehend.

 

**_I want you to know, Jean-Luc, that whatever I decide, however you wish to respond to it, you have no blame in this. I could never have hoped for a better companion, and I don’t think that even in my omnipotence, I could ever thank you enough._ **

**_Try not to be afraid, please. The concept of killing myself has felt like the only escape from the terror that is existence, but you’ve shown me how much less I have to fear in the right company. It’ll be alright, either way._ **

**_\- Q_ **

 

It took Picard several minutes – and one or two more silk-soft tissues than he’d care to admit – to regain his general wherewithal. He adopted a briefly meditative state, absolute silence crafting a calming net around his psyche, before he sniffed pointedly, ever the practical Captain – he had his distraction, in the form of whatever he had to discover, the answer curled into his fingers. All he could do was wait, and desperately hope.

 

He glanced downwards at the letter, consulting the enigmatic words: _‘the warmest of counsels’_. It didn’t take Dixon Hill, at least, to figure out that part. He tapped it gently, feeling bizarrely absurd even after all he’d seen that this would link him across two quadrants when it had been known to fail on his own ship.

 

“Picard to Troi…?”

 

_“Captain?!”_

The wonderfully familiar voice of one of his best friends nestled a comfort deep within his breast; he sighed softly, a warm smile firmly upon his lips.

 

“Hello, Deanna,” he greeted kindly. “How long have I been absent?”

 

_“Around ten minutes, sir – we haven’t seen you leave your ready room – but Commander Riker disappeared, then returned and mentioned what was happening, and I’ve been so worried –”_

 

“Counsellor, it’s alright.” He hoped his tranquil tone would soften her uncharacteristic panic. “Q is highly unconventional, but not remotely malevolent. Will’s presence was a test, and one that I promise you, I was no more amused by than he was.”

 

 _“I… believe you, sir.”_ She murmured a gentle breath. _“The Commander says he’s actually omnipotent…”_

He heard the whispered dread in her words with something close to irritation; he bit back his own irrationality, remembering well his own severe reservations about the deity.

 

“He is, Counsellor.”

 

Utter quiet rent the suite for a long moment.

 

_“Are you alright, Jean-Luc?”_

_“Yes,”_ Picard responded emphatically. “Honestly, Deanna, I’m fine – in fact, he’s been incredibly accommodating in more ways than one. However, there is something, apparently, that I need to discuss –”

 

He was cut off abruptly by the sound of her doorbell, and he belatedly recalled that she was probably rather busy – it was so easy to detach oneself from scheduling at Q’s side, and he sternly reprimanded himself; he was a _Starfleet Captain_ , not a casual vagrant.

 

“I’m sorry, Counsellor – of course you have appointments,” he murmured apologetically.

 

 _“I actually don’t, sir,”_ she responded in bewilderment, as the chime once again insistently rang out. _“I did have, but both of them suddenly cancelled – come!”_

Picard valiantly tried to ignore the resounding certainty that whomever amongst his crew that she was referring to hadn’t consciously wanted to skip their sessions as the unknown individual stormed into her quarters.

 

_“Deanna, we’ve got a serious problem –”_

Picard quite forgot his own emotional crisis at the hushed worry of his First Officer; professionalism slid back into place as though a well-loved jacket, rustic but unfailingly stalwart.

 

“What is it, Number One?”

 

 _“Sir?!”_ Riker asked, lost, and his Captain’s mind unavoidably flashed back to the similar confusion of a Calcofrexan jacuzzi. _“Are you back onboard?”_

 

“There’ll be time for this _later_ , Will – what’s wrong?”

 

A brief disquiet danced awkwardly before the trio for a moment, so tangible that Picard could envisage it palpably from the Gamma Quadrant.

 

_“Wrong, sir? Nothing, except the notable lack of our Captain – are you alright? You haven’t been hurt?”_

Discomfiture sliced through the Captain’s nerves, a tingling racing in its wake as his earlier agitation further matured – what the _hell_ was going on?

 

“Dammit man, what is the _matter_ with you –”

 

 _“Honestly, Captain, I don’t know what you’re referring to! I was only coming to see if_ _Deanna wished to share dinner with me.”_

Picard pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stem the flow of a wholly terrible dread.

 

 _“Will,”_ he began more softly _,_ pressingly _,_ “you entered the Counsellor’s quarters exclaiming that you had a ‘serious problem’ – I order you to tell me what that was!”

 

He could visualise, as though he was beside them, their exchange of raised eyebrows, the flickering of concern across silent gazes, and existential despair blossomed at his core.

 

 _“Captain.”_ Troi was in full Counsellor mode, and he gritted his teeth against her gently chiding voice _. “Genuinely, we have no idea –”_

“Never mind!” Picard snapped furiously, head in his hands. “Whatever it was, it clearly isn’t happening anymore, so just _forget_ _it_ , alright?!”

 

“ _Con_ _permiso_ , Captain,” whispered a painfully familiar voice in response, and Picard had barely a split second to realise his deepest suspicions before he, too, underwent a spontaneous memory lapse. Halfway across the cosmos, Q grimaced, pained, his mind’s eye chronicling his own actions with a blast of profound regret, before turning to his vexed companion of the past sixty seconds.

 

“I hope you’re this amenable next time,” he murmured darkly, summoning a small box to his lap; it was adorned with a pillarbox-red button, its hue screaming a subliminal demand.

 

“Q, perhaps it may be beneficial for the future venture to account for all available variables.”

 

The deity snarled.

 

“When I need the advice of a glorified calculator, you’ll be the first to know!”

 

His visitor’s lips just managed to part in protest before he slammed a palm to the contraption, and noted him quietly vanish; brilliance burned across half a light-year and continued, wrapping its magician in a void of absolute nothingness. Q breathed deeply, madly, for clarity in his pure, white dimension – he was losing control, a fact sure to attract the entirely unwanted attention of his siblings if he could not wrench himself back into some sort of skewed line; he’d been more than content to have the morons of the _Enterprise_ forget the existence of one of their own, but that damned bearded _fool_ had never been meant to involve their Captain –

 

_‘Their’ Captain?! Since when was he was **yours** – _

 

He screamed into the void for a long, anguished moment, fingernails scraping across whatever passed for the floor in his personal dimension, the gritted black matter of general reality struck through pure _blanche_ and caught beneath human nails. By the _gods_ , whichever damned ones mortals believed in, when had all this gotten so _complicated?_ They were _friends_ , nothing more! How could they be more, when the whole of everything separated them, when simultaneously he’d never felt so close to anything? How was he supposed to concentrate on finding out what any of this absurdity meant when he was too distracted to formulate the most simplistic of plans?!

 

He lay there for what felt like hours, essence screeching its horror at the inactivity, his rationality viciously ensuring its quietude – he absolutely could _not_ attract the interest of his people, not when he was so close to achieving his goal. The passivity eventually brought forth a soft realisation – however vital he felt, Picard wasn’t entirely what was stuttering his self-governance. He blinked away the image of the phenomena he’d been staring into earlier in his omniscient mind – it was legitimately impossible to escape its threat, however physically far away he was from its gaping maw. He’d been so categorically _certain_ , and considering a continuation of his existence shot an irrepressible itch under every layer of fragile human skin, shrieking discomfort directly to his core.

 

He sighed soul-deep, exhaustion setting the glistening particles of false reality around him aquiver – the whole world shimmered for an extended moment, his squeezed fists passing cleanly through the canvas below his form; stardust seeped through the gaps in his digits, time slipping poetically by without concern. He took a moment to envy its unconcerned passage, before his click shattered the dimension to polygons – he stood once more in open space, not-hypernova glistening a spectrum of torment. He sneered at it, a picture of defiance.

 

_Wait your damned turn._

The gamble he had taken was monumental, its potential consequences burning at his very heart – Picard was extraordinary, but what he was asking of him would challenge one of his own.

 

Perhaps it would all be perilously easy – perhaps his friend wouldn’t ever realise, or perchance he’d become fully aware and simply reject it entirely… or maybe _he’d_ decide that none of it damned well mattered anyway, the whole riddle an exercise in a futility of galactic proportions.

 

Q took a sobering inhalation – he’d set this up for a reason. There was precious little to do other than watch it play out, and fiercely hope that it worked in his favour – he couldn’t continue hitting the factory reset, especially when he wasn’t in a sufficiently logical state of mind to account for every minor detail.

 

He stared, light-years ahead, at the _Enterprise_ once more, nodding silently.

 

“Take two…”

 

* * *

 

 

Twenty minutes onward and innumerate galaxies away, a Captain once again bitterly wept into a beautifully embossed note, commbadge’s sheen smearing beneath the rhythmic rubbing of his thumb.

 

_Right. No use dwelling – he’ll be fine, he has to be fine… he’s left you a task. Now, **engage**._

The vaguest whisper of a smile grasped his lips, the same thumb applying pressure.

 

“Picard to Troi…”

 

* * *

 

 

It took Data Soong four one hundredths of a second to realise that he most certainly wasn’t in a Jeffries tube anymore, and only a handful more to forget entirely the imminent diagnostics he’d need to run to heighten reaction efficiency. His every circuit thrummed with fascination and faint alarm as he realised that he was motionless before the very phenomena that was designed to tear apart the deity they’d encountered not fifteen minutes earlier. His artistic exploits had led him to a vague familiarity with the concept of beauty, and though he had no quantifiable way to fathom if this qualified, the serene swirl of dusts, the brilliance of its colours, its scientific impossibilities… it certainly fit the objective criteria, as deigned as it was to devastate.

 

“What?” Murmured a dry voice to his left. “Never seen a guy shatter every astrophysical law before? God, how _dull_ your existence must be…”

 

The android’s head jerked across, lips prised open in amazement.

 

 _“Q,”_ he breathed. “We are… not aboard a vessel –”

 

“Nope,” the god noted, deliberately popping the ‘p’ with a particular sarcasm. “You have questions, I’m sure, and seeing as how I didn’t give you the opportunity to ask them last time, we’re an open forum – satiate away, android!”

 

Several septillion lines of equally incessant querying burst through Data’s mind simultaneously, dangerously close to crashing his entire cache, before a single, simplistic sentence replaced every last one of them, borne of quiet understanding – an ingrained image of his partner, his grin placid, features warm.

 

 _“Look, Data,”_ his inner Geordi murmured in fond amusement, still clad in full Watson ensemble as they wandered back to their quarters post-holodeck adventure, _“not everything has to be so complicated. Sometimes, an egg… is just an egg.”_

A faint smile touched synthetic lips.

“You are omnipotent,” he exclaimed, gaze knowing. “Everything I would wish to know is answered by this fact, however little logical sense that makes. I am quite sure I could not sensibly apply the Holmesian fallacy herein.”

 

Q stared at him, hard, for a long moment.

 

“Well, that’s… _different_ ,” he muttered bitterly. “And here’s me thinking your _Captain_ was disenchanted. Tell me, android – does it pay to exist without imagination?”

 

“My imagination is vivid, Q,” replied the second officer matter-of-factly. “It merely lacks any manner of qualitative comparison.”

 

Poignancy blazed in the rich caramel of a borrowed gaze.

 

“You have no _idea_ how lucky you are.” Q shook himself silently, eyes widening. “You must have _a_ question, surely?”

 

“I have precisely four thousand and seventeen, though none of them will be adequately explained in any manner I could comprehend, hence the dismissal,” Data responded mildly. “But you are correct, Q – there is a singular query, one that I cannot provide any form of answer to, that you may be able to elaborate upon.”

 

Q sighed wearily – it wasn’t as though he lacked a distinct taste for theatrics himself, but his newfound companion clearly had no concept of brevity.

 

“Don’t let me stop you,” he breezed, dry, and Data’s brow pinched as brilliantly yellow eyes consulted the deity.

 

“Why am _I_ here?”

 

“Good _me_ , I was beginning to think you’d never ask.” The murmur was sardonic. “Drink?”

 

Data blinked, his own brand of astonishment, as a clear liquid was presented to him in a slim thistle glass; he watched, further perturbed, as Q tapped a knuckle to it, and a miniature supernova of vibrant oranges and reds exploded through the drink.

 

“I assure you, Samar at dusk is actually significantly less interesting,” he drawled. “There’s this particularly unappealing magenta-mustard combination just as the twin suns set in a parallel orbit… anyway, yes, a response.”

 

He took a sip of the significantly strengthened cocktail for the desperately human ideal of ‘Dutch courage’, the spice of the concoction lingering in his throat; the pair locked gazes, one desperately sombre, the other as fascinated as the unfeeling could ever be.

 

“You enjoy analysing and adopting humanity, apparently, so I hope you’ve studied hard, android, because you’re my only hope,” Q murmured. “Tell me, Data – what’s it like to love?”

 

* * *

 

 

_“So he hasn’t hurt you, Captain?”_

 

Picard’s lips curled upwards at her direct philosophy even as fought an irrational desire to snap his defence, remembering well his own misgivings regarding the errant god.

 

“Oh, far from it, Deanna,” he murmured, staring blindly at the courtyard’s sculpted wilderness. “He has been remarkably accommodating of my every whim. I assume Will has told you of his escapade?”

 

_“Not quite how he put it, sir, but yes, though he has only informed me. You… did not approve, I take it?”_

He noted the apprehension, natural intelligence leading him several steps ahead, a cold frown instead claiming him.

 

“I have _not_ been corrupted, Counsellor.” It was an iced dismissal. “If you genuinely believe I would be pleased with my first officer, my _friend_ , being brought halfway across the universe so Q could prove a damned point –”

 

 _“Captain, please.”_ She was her general irrefutable force of tranquillity, though her voice held firm. _“I didn’t mean to imply anything offensive, only that you’ve spent time with an omnipotent being, and that such things might have naturally led to a skewering of your perception.”_

His irritation simmered down at her sensible refute; of course, given a role reversal, it was the primary thing he himself would ascertain, especially with a complete lack of context aside from the antagonism the deity had initially evidenced them all with. He slammed a frustrated fist to the expansive glass before him, remarkably unfazed by the fact that his knuckles passed directly through when his forehead was leaning wholly against it.

 

 _What did you think I was going to do, imitate your death wish?_ His mind spat bitterly.

 

“I’m sorry, Deanna,” he murmured, slowly withdrawing his hand. “I assure you, all of my faculties are entirely intact, my ethics unscathed – I wouldn’t have begun this, nor continued it, if I wasn’t so dedicated to the Prime Directive. I’m just… rather at sea.”

 

He watched the soft smile as though he were as omniscient as Q.

 

 _“Understandable, sir, completely,”_ she replied fairly. _“What is less so, however, is why you have been given a link to **me**.”_

He rose a brow, lost – not an unfamiliar emotion when Deanna Troi worked her psychological magic.

 

“Why would he _not_ offer me a link to my Counsellor, of all people?”

 

_“Why would he allow you to turn to, objectively, the person most likely to assume that you may have been coerced – to the one person who may give you a greater psychological insight, and thus keep you from making decisions he is more likely to approve of? I assume you have told him of my role, of my cultural heritage?”_

“Yes, but you cannot feel my plight from here –”

 

_“No, so we can only assume that he doesn’t wish for me to.”_

The Captain once again bit back a biting remark at her assumption of Q’s uncaring logic.

 

“Perhaps he simply does not need you to,” he answered quietly, considering the notion for a moment. “Perhaps, Counsellor, your full understanding of my emotions before _I_ am even in possession of such knowledge is, in this instance, counterproductive.”

 

Troi murmured a noise of agreement, and Picard allowed his intuitive deductions to continue, grateful for even the illusion of clarity in such a quagmire of uncertainty.

 

“Thus, whatever I need to work out, I must do largely alone… and you are, seemingly, the one that is most suited to guide me through it.”

 

_“’Work out’, Captain?”_

“Yes – he left me a note –”

He smoothed out the paper that had been scrunched in his opposite fist, eyes roving it for the precise wording.

 

“’I have a decision to make, my friend – as, I believe, do you’,” he read back, gaze blurring once more. “His is, of course, whether survival is worthwhile – mine, though, is rather less clear-cut.”

 

_“Well then, sir – I think we should start at the beginning.”_

Picard beamed at her acceptance, her ability to deal with the important whilst casting aside her obvious reservations.

 

“Usually advisable, Counsellor.”

 

He took a soft breath, and began.

 

* * *

 

 

Data’s brow arched at the god, expression twisted by bemusement.

 

“You are asking me how something _feels?”_

“You’re a quick one, aren’t you?” Q’s observation was zero-kelvin cold. “I thought androids were supposed to be advanced – you’re significantly lowering my opinion, I have to be frank.”

 

“Q,” Data retorted primly, “I do not possess emotions. I am, as you have correctly noted, an android.”

 

The deity’s sigh was dramatically drawn out.

 

“By the Continuum, I _know_ , idiot!” He snapped. “I am asking you why you _bother_ with it!”

 

Data levelled a cool, mustard glare at the petulant entity.

 

“Because it is worth –” he affected a more informal tone, head inclined “– ‘bothering with’, Q.”

 

“ _Is_ _it_ , though?!” Q burst out in frustration, cocktail inadvertently sloshing into open space at his melodramatic gesticulation. “You and I, Data, we’re not _like_ the rest of these fools – we’re above the pitiful biological needs of humans, of any species. We rise above their useless sentiments, their inane morality, their ridiculous need for romance, yet we are enraptured anyway!”

 

Data’s mechanics wheezed as though wading through treacle rather than processing at their usual quantum efficiency, plucking apart sentences at light-speed in a greater attempt to understand his companion’s struggle; he alighted on a single word, chin quirked towards the agitated being.

 

 _“’We’?”_ He murmured curiously. “You are… _enraptured_ , by the Captain?”

 

“ _Yes!_ No! Probably! I don’t have a damned clue, alright?!” Q snarled. His hands quaked violently, lips curling to absolute disdain as he summoned something in a white flash; it was palm-sized, and briefly visible, it seemed to his acquaintance to be a miniature moon, though Data rather fervently hoped it wasn’t as his fingers curled around it and squeezed. Debris crumbled effortlessly, a spray of interstellar rock blown to an inexplicable breeze as though confetti at a particularly subdued wedding. Q swallowed harshly, eyes glazed.

 

“It was uninhabited,” he drawled, unconcerned. “Mostly, anyway. No one likes insects.”

 

Data blinked, faintly marvelling at his father’s genius – he had precious little concept of how his neural net hadn’t completely shut down.

 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Q snapped. “Better an expansive colony of Calubrian ants than a densely populated galaxy. I’ll give it back… eventually. I can’t lose control, android – trust me, you do _not_ want to see that.”

 

He conjured something else drinkable to his hand, knocking it back in incredibly short order; it refilled in attoseconds, its inky, indigo depth camouflaged almost flawlessly against the backdrop of the universe, his fingers finally steadying.

 

“What _is_ love, Data?” His mutter was rhapsodic. “Why, when you’re wholly unburdened by the passage of time, by the emotions of mortals, do you wish to be involved in something so _primitive?_ And don’t give me any of that ‘it’s worth it’ nonsense, I need something vastly more concrete. I assume he didn’t program you into it?”

 

The vaguest flash of red shimmered, gossamer-thin, across Data’s consciousness for a split second.

 

“Geordi would never conceive of such deception.” The statement was veiled in frost, an early spring morning given voice, and Q glanced across at him in surprise.

 

 _Absolutely_ _emotionless_ , _clearly_ …

 

“That was unfair,” he admitted, ghosting over the inner whisper of Picardian morality that pointed out, and was _troubled_ _by_ , the fact that his assertion had been cruel. “Still, your actions remain inexplicable.”

 

Data considered his personal stance for several heartbeats longer than he usually had to.

 

“I have spent a considerable length of time amongst organic beings, Q, humans and otherwise, and none of them have ever seen me as anything other than a machine, something they cannot understand. They have been friendly, usually, but I am that which is incomprehensible; people have been incapable of seeing me otherwise.”

 

Q leaned forwards, eyes dull with pain.

 

“Glad your mortals were at least pleasant. More than some of us get.” He sipped his curious concoction, tears evaporated on mental command, though the solemnity was no less pronounced. “Go on…”

 

“I am unique, Q, particularly within Starfleet – its members have seen that I am stronger, quicker, cleverer, more efficient than themselves, and none of them could view me as a friend – many have simply not trusted me based upon these facts.”

 

“Imagine that.” The entity’s voice was hoarse, gaze aflame. “Let me guess: He’s the only one who has ever seen past the wiring?”

 

“Yes,” Data responded softly. “The crew, however, have been very accepting of my origins, my differences – especially the Captain. In my experience, many would have not accommodated an android aboard their ship, much less one in such a senior position. He is a constant guide, offering me advice, engaging in literature with me – truly, I aspire to be as he is.”

 

A fierce pride eclipsed the god’s essence, sliced through with a pure warmth – a solidarity, of understanding the perspective, of being close to another, of wishing to be nowhere else. It was entirely foreign, incredibly dangerous and _beyond_ enchanting.

 

“It’s almost like none of it mattered,” Q whispered, rapt. “As though what you’ve been through, what has led you to where you are, mutes… almost as though living might just be worth it.”

 

Data’s eyes crinkled with confusion.

 

“I cannot empathise with such decisions – in fact, I cannot empathise at all.”

 

“Oh, but you _can_ ,” Q replied genially. “Why do you think I picked you, Data? You’re _exactly_ who can empathise with me. Don’t you see, android? I don’t need an emotional take on this – I’m already fully aware of my feelings, they just make absolutely no sense; I’ve got no qualitative _data_ , if you’ll excuse the pun. What I require is an analysis, and who better to ask than a glorified computer?”

 

“Whilst I do not appreciate being labelled as such, I will endeavour to help.” Data’s tone was mildly caustic, and Q smirked.

 

“Don’t take it personally,” he murmured, slightly embittered. “I really don’t understand interpersonal relations – never really needed to. Go ahead…”

 

* * *

 

 

“It was all entirely innocuous, Deanna,” Picard commenced softly. “I simply wished to assist a being with extraordinary capacity and intelligence, to persuade him that life was worthwhile – the utmost of Starfleet priorities, and of course one I personally value irrespective of it – though, naturally, I never actually believed his grandiose claims. How can anyone be _omnipotent_ , for goodness sake?”

 

 _“And yet, he is,”_ Troi murmured, with similar disbelief.

 

“Indeed. The day the universe stops astonishing me, however, is probably the day I will consider retiring.” A quiet smile crossed his features. “The revelation was… challenging, of course, as is my duty, but that’s what it was, Counsellor – _duty_.”

 

_“That rather implies, sir, that you no longer consider it as such.”_

Weariness eclipsed him, though her voice held no judgment; he sank to the desk’s plush seat, endlessly staring at the bronzed sky far beyond. Paradoxically, it had never felt so close – the universe had always been the only real home he had ever known, but it had taken on an even deeper significance of late.

 

“I sat in open space, Deanna,” he breathed, clinging to the arms of the chair in appropriated reminiscence. “I stared into the depths of the phenomena he had designed to destroy him; infinitely complex, beyond all scientific possibility… desperately frightening. To reach a point where that seems one’s only option… I could never leave anyone to that, however dangerous they are, however hopeless their case. I’d have been a _monster_.”

 

He scrubbed idly at stinging eyes, swallowing through the emotional inferno at his very core.

 

 _“You are anything but, Captain.”_ Her voice was hushed with admiration, an absolute belief in his values. _“I imagine anyone would struggle to remain impartial in such a situation…”_

He was more than familiar enough with her technique to acknowledge that she was leading the exchange, and for once, he was more than willing to allow it. Anything that could shine an explanation upon this madness, upon his _task_ , was completely welcome.

 

“I believe that’s my fault,” he admitted. “I have shown him little but trust – initially as an exercise in assisting his comfort, but it very quickly became painfully simple to offer it… though I believe the real challenge involved was in _him_ trusting _me_. He genuinely couldn’t conceive of the notion that I wasn’t simply in this to indulge my inner hedonist.”

 

Troi fell painfully silent.

 

_“I imagine it’s part-and-parcel of being omnipotent – we are all guilty of occasional overindulgence, whether it be with our sweet teeth or our ancient artefacts. If we had the key to permanent desire without consequence…”_

“’ _I’ve either been a walking nightmare or a dream factory’,”_ Picard recalled, sorrow coursing through him. “Four billion _years_ , and I’ve been his only friend across it all.”

 

 _“A responsibility no one could be asked to shoulder, sir.”_ Her gentle disapproval had returned, and it set him more on edge than ever.

 

“He asked me no such thing,” he bit. “He offered me an exit at every turn – I think he was rather hoping I’d take the opportunity, too.”

 

_“And you felt morally obligated to continue?”_

“When Riker was there, when I didn’t know him? Yes. Every time since? Not for a heartbeat.” He gave a gentle sigh. “I was not intending it, Counsellor, but he has become far more than a being to be rescued… more, even, than a friend.”

 

_“How much more, Jean-Luc?”_

If it hadn’t all been so damned painful, Picard might have helplessly laughed; at her unwarranted concern, at the unusual use of his forename, at his own bewilderment, at the sheer madness of the scenario he’d somehow found himself within. He cast a mild gaze to the courtyard’s newly begun swordplay, and considered that perhaps Q’s initial thought for his entertainment might have been the wiser choice – he’d certainly have found it easier to master, and likely less painful.

 

“I have no idea,” he admitted, quiet. “It is rather difficult to quantify one’s emotions in such an unfamiliar and intense situation, with a being it seems bizarre to even apply them to.”

 

Troi contemplated for a moment, considering her angle as her Captain noted the lightning-fast parry of a curvaceous, turquoise alien; she, doubtlessly, would be amongst the top competitors.

 

 _“I know that you aren’t used to being led by your emotions, Captain,”_ she exclaimed, voice calmingly neutral, _“but there must have been some indicators, if you believe you have gotten to that level of companionship with him.”_

He bit his lip sharply, noting the female stand as conqueror, foil poised at the throat of her fallen challenger; his eyes closed against such triviality, the world vanished before his gentle reminiscence.

 

“Well, there was one thing,” he whispered. “Yesterday, I… _kissed_ _him_ , which as you may know, my dear, is not something I tend to do…”

 

* * *

 

 

Data glanced, puzzled, at the god’s marked intrigue, something his partner had once described as a ‘cigarillo’ blazing eagerly from his lips.

 

“Judge me not, android. I’m – understandably, in my godly opinion – quite stressed, and humans have such simple forms to indulge.” Q aimed a blast of smoke to his vague left, coarse words shadowed somewhat by the distinct aroma of violets that accompanied it. Softness flickered across Data’s neural net; baths were rare privileges aboard starships, time constraints usually hampering any efforts to enjoy a lengthy soak, but whenever he managed to get the workaholic Geordi to relax somewhat, the engineer’s replicated bubble bath always carried the scent of the blue flora.

 

_“Mom always loved this stuff. Used it all the time when my sister and I were kids. I’d come in afterwards, and it was like I’d gone for a country walk. Kinda blew my mind, Data – I couldn’t see, y’know, so it was amplified even further for me, and it was already pretty strong.”_

“Oh, for the love of – stop _fantasising!”_ Q spat furiously.

 

“I am not capable of such things, Q,” Data replied, a picture of innocence. “I was… remembering.”

 

“No, of course you’re not,” Q drawled. “ _Get on with it,_ would you – time is _ticking_ , android!”

 

He punctuated the statement with a stabbing glare at his execution device, and Data was quite sure that if he’d been biologically capable of it, the gesture would have sent a shiver down the length of his spine.

 

“It is difficult, Q, to simplify my stance, so I will attempt to be as clear as possible,” Data murmured.

 

“Quantum core or otherwise, Data, I have an IQ of two thousand and five – trust me, I can extrapolate.” Q’s tone had taken on a hushed softness, eager to comprehend his own emotions; Data gave the ghost of a smile.

 

“Geordi is unique, in my personal experience – someone who values me exactly as I am.”

 

“Evidently…”

 

“I was always content in his company; I realised later that I did not wish for there to be a time where others were more important to him.”

 

Q gave a dry swallow, his mentality straying back to a perfectly warm jacuzzi, to a man who hadn’t been overly vital to him at the time – to a man he still desperately hadn’t wanted to lose to his ill-mannered, bearded colleague. Existing without Picard in some capacity seemed almost as horrendous as plunging into his not-hypernova; threads pulled across space-time, invisibly binding him to their connection, to the void that had sunk into his essence since he had left his friend’s side – he _missed_ him, their ridiculously short span of time together mattering not a jot when it had been so intense and meaningful.

 

He tossed aside his cigarillo, instead opting for something else with a potent alcohol content.

 

“ _Keep_ _going_ , Data.” The android nodded dutifully.

 

“Geordi gave me the opportunity to be myself, to explore who I truly was – to never cast aspersions upon me for my actions. I have found this to be incredibly important to my self-discovery – I am free to act as I please, without judgment, always knowing he will do his best to guide me.”

 

Q’s eyes fell unwillingly shut, a shudder shot through him, thanks both to the cocktail he’d consumed in a single swallow and the resonance of his companion’s words. No one had ever come close to accepting him as Picard had; he hadn’t ever been taken as a respectable being, not even by those predestined to understand his eternal plight – he was the dark horse of the Continuum, incapable of their enforced vegetation.

 

What chance had mortals ever stood, when his own _species_ were indifferent to his existence? And yet, a singular human had triumphed above them all, his kindness, strength and innate trust of the being before him shining through every barrier presented. For the first time in his eons-long lifespan, Q had grown comfortable with the idea of opening up, simply because someone cared enough to listen – because his Jean-Luc wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t dismiss his opinions, wouldn’t _give up on him_ when it all seemed far too complex and difficult to continue… He was a god, quadrillions of languages at his disposal, yet he remained absolutely unable to enunciate how much that _meant_. He took a deliberately slower sip of his refill, conscious of the effects of it upon his human frame when he was already vastly too compromised – the tears stubbornly remained this time, despite his will to banish them.

 

“My own family aren’t even interested in me, yet _he_ is.” The bitterest of smiles sloped across his adopted features, essence aching.

 

“If it helps, Q, my brother is… _difficult.”_

 

Q shook his head, ignoring the distinct burning in his eyes as they blurred over.

 

“It doesn’t, but thank you, Data. Anything else?”

 

He was aiming for coy, but missed by several quadrants.

 

_How ironic._

“I have many abilities that are not available to a biological lifeform, Q – as I mentioned, I am incredibly strong, very fast, and highly intelligent. Geordi has never tried to use any of these talents for his own end; I assist him, of course, but only because I wish to, and because it helps him.”

 

The god let loose a gentle laugh, hysterical – Picard had never once asked him for anything, neither trust nor cooperation. The stoic tone washed through his mind: _“All I want, Q, is for you to desire your own continued existence, in all your extraordinary capacity.”_ It had been his own assertion that they visit places; a paltry way to maintain his own comfort, really, and a fathomless way to pay back the man who had requested only his companion’s contentment, when he had no real clue how to offer him anything _close_ to what he himself had been gifted with. It had been a pleasure to showcase cosmic highlights – he had considered of late that perhaps the universe wasn’t quite so alarmingly bleak if you had someone to share it with… if, indeed, his friend wished to continue doing so.

 

“There is… something else,” Data murmured through his inner monologue, hesitance creeping onto his face. “I feel, though, that you will not much care for this analogy.”

 

Q gave a sorrowful sigh, glancing at the second officer; there was a remote chance, he noted dully, that Data was perhaps far less uninspired than he had given him remote credit for.

 

 _“Say it,”_ Q instructed, voice barely level – he winced, having no idea how to prepare for what he believed he was about to hear.

 

Data nodded pensively.

 

“I became aware that I wished to protect him, both for my own interests and for his. I initially thought this selfish; he later assured me that it was not, because I will outlive him considerably, and therefore it is natural that I would wish to be with him as long as possible.”

 

… And there it was, given voice in all its agonised glory – what the hell did it _matter_ what conclusion Picard came to, when he was doomed to spend the vast majority of forever alone irrespectively? Hands aquiver, he summoned a wall that failed to entirely pass the universal check for solidity; he hurled his glass against it, which unsatisfactorily bounced soundlessly off the gelatinous brickwork. He snarled viciously, sharply clicking – they both exploded on command, ceramic and glass alike, and Q watched through hushed tears as the fragments floated away, shimmering, on another impossible breeze.

 

“Q, I am sorry.” Golden eyes beseeched him with earnest. “I only wished to help – I had no intention of upsetting you.”

 

Acid coated the murmured laugh, his phenomena a swirl of indistinguishable tones beneath his visual impairment. He hiccoughed a sob, chocolate gaze unfocussed against his own internal horror.

 

“Oh, that’s rather the problem, dear android,” he whispered. “You’ve been _most_ helpful. I suspected it, of course – it’s why I sent him away – but having no comparative…”

 

“What did you suspect?” Data asked piously, ever curious.

 

Implosions were screaming through his soul, yet he had no energy whatsoever to translate the fact; indeed, what could he even destroy that could quantify?

 

_Yourself. Him. Literally everything. It won’t work, but –_

His consciousness breathlessly rebelled against such notions; he forcefully thrust down panic, painfully reluctant to enunciate the real issue – if he kept it within, if he never actually _said_ it –

 

_Ridiculous. Hardly makes it less real, does it?_

A suffocated hiss escaped his lips, a comprehensive hopelessness in nonsensical noise.

 

“That I’m in love with him.” He whimpered another sob of despair. “I was rather hoping that I’d just work out a way to deal with that, if it was the conclusion we arrived at.”

 

“That has not happened?”

 

The deity glanced miserably at him, his features little more than pale moonlight beneath his weeping.

 

“No,” he choked out. “Not even _slightly_. How am I supposed to…?”

 

Data’s hand came to his shoulder, his grasp sympathetic but firm in its conviction.

 

“Live with knowing the Captain’s transience?” He finished quietly. “I… try not to dwell on it. I have always fully expected to live far beyond the lifespan of everyone I have ever encountered. But being together, uniting with another – I am certain that my life would be far less meaningful without Geordi. I cannot make that decision for you, Q, and I am not led by emotions as you and the Captain are – but I would suggest that if you are desperate to die, you exhaust all available angles before you do. Would you say it was worthy of attempting?”

 

Q’s expression was bathed in blankness, head shaking.

 

“That rather depends on his opinion, doesn’t it?”

 

Data silently pondered the words, analysing.

 

“Is that why he is not here?”

 

Q sighed, the exhaustion resonating down to his core.

 

“He kissed me,” he exclaimed, so softly it was almost inaudible. “I’m at an utter loss regarding the emotions of mortals, but I need _him_ to know, to _understand_ , that he can’t do that unless he damned well means it, because if I try this…”

 

The concept began a whispered symphony of foreign happiness at his essence, as deeply as it simultaneously terrified him; their lips touching had opened his being to a universe of possibility he had never considered, a chance to be fundamentally content for the first time in four billion years.

 

The question, however, stolidly remained – was he brave enough to continue down the path to madness?

 

“Captain Picard is a very private man,” Data acknowledged, “but I cannot envisage a situation wherein he would perform such acts if his intentions were not true.”

 

Q’s eyes slammed shut against the weight of that statement.

 

“Nor can I,” he whispered. “It isn’t just that, but… look, none of this matters. I’ve no need to take any more of your time - thank you, Data.”

 

He cast him a quiet look of gratitude, dismissing the acknowledging android with a controlled gesture. He stared, almost longingly, into the heart of his phenomena – even now, as willing as he was to entertain the notion of not using it for at least another few decades, it curled a strange comfort around the innermost curves of his essence that it was there; that if all of this went to proverbial hell, he had an exit strategy.

 

He would never have to deal with the absolute shattering of the only connection he had ever had.

 

“You exist to destroy me, yet I’m somehow thankful for you,” he murmured, acidic in his acceptance. “You’ll have to settle for second place on that score, I’m afraid.”

 

His expression painfully blank, very being drowned in panic, he simply sat stock-still, and awaited the game’s conclusion.

 

* * *

 

 

_“You… kissed him?!”_

_“_ Yes,” Picard breathed softly. “I thought that there was a chance, when he’d begun to trust me, to enjoy my company… I thought he’d want to _survive_. How naïve of me, Deanna – as though I could disregard four billion years of complete isolation. _‘Your arrogance belies you, Picard.’”_

He gave a heavy sigh, his slight adoption of Q’s tone doing little for his personal anguish.

 

“He seemed quite surprised that I’d even managed to come to that conclusion.” His words were dark with self-animosity. “I told him he couldn’t, that surely all of it had meant _something_ , that I must have managed to show him that the universe wasn’t as dreadful as he’d felt it was. He agreed, said it had – everything, in fact. And then I…”

 

 _“… Kissed him.”_ Troi basked in disbelief.

“Must you say it in that tone?”

 

She emitted a mollified noise, discontent at her own reaction; she had never judged anyone in her counsel, and now was hardly the opportune moment to do so.

 

_“My apologies, Captain. I just have difficulty believing that you would do that, when you are aware of the calculable risk involved.”_

 

“Well, quite,” he murmured. “It’s not as though I routinely kiss those who mean a lot to me. Rather implies a certain emotional divide, doesn’t it?”

 

Troi considered his statement for several heartbeats.

 

 _“Yes,”_ she concurred softly. _“Captain, I must ask you something, and it won’t be something you’ll appreciate, but I hope you can see why I must ask nevertheless.”_

Apprehension crawled beneath his skin, defensive lexicon primed and ready. He scolded himself thoroughly, nodding pointlessly at her to continue.

 

“Go ahead, Counsellor.”

 

_“I would like you to consider the possibility that the kiss was borne not of affection, but of desperation.”_

He sprang upright from the plush seat, horrified.

 

“You… believe I was _using_ _him?”_

_“No,”_ Troi cut in quickly. _“And even if you had unconsciously been, it is nothing to be ashamed of – psychologically, we attempt to latch onto those we have no wish to lose, even if that means inadvertent manipulation. Feelings can become intermingled quite easily.”_

Picard calmed somewhat, leaning into the bedroom wall – god, what the hell was _wrong_ with him, jumping to such belittling conclusions? He was entirely too panicked at what would await him in his immediate future to work through such complexities with any real clarity.

 

_Dammit, Q…_

He wrestled himself into a semblance of order, spoke freely – he had never been able to be much else before the logic and brilliance of Deanna Troi.

 

“With respect, Counsellor, I’d rather not think of myself as capable of that,” he confessed softly, “though I can’t honestly tell you that I wasn’t frantic…”

 

His mechanical heart thrummed quietly in unaccepting protest – it seemed obvious, to do whatever was necessary to save those one valued… but it spoke of nothing further. Not of his pride at Q’s maturation, nor of his general warmth towards him, how unreasonably attractive he was in the vivid lightshow of a cybercity, the delight he had developed in tandem with the god’s acquired contentment, the profound sorrow he had for his cause – how damned _united_ he had felt with a being he had no remote conception of the capacities of when their hands had joined, when they had locked into an embrace…

 

Of how unfailingly _complete_ he had felt in a universe that he knew well often inspired quite the opposite feeling, when they had kissed; of how devastated he had been at Q’s sudden rejection.

 

_“Captain?”_

His eyelids squeezed tightly against the fire within, the ache at his core almost as profound as the one between his temples.

 

“It absolutely was borne of desperation,” he conceded gently, “and I think we both know _why_ , Deanna.”

 

He allowed himself to slink down the smooth textures of the monogram behind him, to the rich, paradoxically too-hard carpet below, in absolute defeat.

 

He was in love with a being who had every intention of committing suicide. He pinched the bridge of his nose with trembling fingers, attempting in vain to stem the flow of despair without any remote success.

 

_“Jean-Luc, are you alright?”_

 

Her kind whisper dragged him back to a reality that felt vastly too surreal – something of an accomplishment, when he had spent the preceding week traversing both timelines and light years as though neither were any sort of barrier.

 

“I should thank you,” he noted blankly. “I assume this is what I was meant to discover.”

 

He could almost see her lips pursing at his evasion, the thread of sympathy shining in dark eyes – gods, what he wouldn’t give to _actually_ witness it, however little it would help.

 

_“I’m not sure it is, sir.”_

He shook his head, bizarrely amused.

 

“What else could there possibly be?” He asked quietly. “You’ll have to forgive me, Counsellor – revelations of this calibre would seem to leave one at a slightly lower intellectual standard than they are perhaps used to.”

 

 _“Understandable, Captain.”_ Her amusement was muted, but present nevertheless. _“Whilst I concur that you were meant to arrive at a conclusion of this nature, I believe there might be more to it.”_

He awaited her analysis with trepidation.

 

 _“You have told me his actions have remained benevolent throughout your acquaintance,”_ she continued _“Whilst I know little of Q, I have an unshakeable faith in **you,** sir, and seemingly, so does he – so I must conclude that the acknowledgement itself is insufficient. After all, you could have realised that yourself, given more time.”_

The pieces slotted into harmonious place, as though a jigsaw he had been born with a familiarity of and simply forgotten; even hampered by the cataclysm of his feelings, Picard was no slouch.

 

 _“Oh,”_ he breathed, struck, sadness palpable. “It wasn’t a realisation, Deanna – it was a _decision_.”

The note was instantly smoothed out for certainty, the specific term’s ink blotting across the page at the individual tear that splashed upon it.

 

“I… have to decide what I want. Knowledge means nothing without action.” He choked down his emotions, valiant in his attempts to think clearly.

 

 _“Indeed, sir,”_ Troi murmured. _“If you wish to begin a relationship with him, all of the challenges he faces become partly your responsibility to deal with.”_

A helpless giggle slid from Picard’s throat, high and exasperated, the letter screwed up to virtual pulp in his clenched fist.

 

“Because they aren’t currently, of course!” He dug his nails into the textured wall, shimmering residue dusted upon the tips of his shaking fingers. “Dear god, what would we even _do_ , Deanna? Discuss Shakespearean discourse, when we could chat to the man himself in a split second? Banquet with monarchs, when he has no need for sustenance? Pop along to the holodeck, when we could be there in actuality? It’s _ridiculous…_ and yet, somehow, it isn’t managing to put me off.”

 

 _“Once an adventurer, Captain, always an adventurer,”_ the empath said fondly, smile clear in her voice. _“I have always known you to be stoic in your convictions, once your mind is made up.”_

“There is no doubt in my mind that I wish to at least see if it _can_ work, my dear,” Picard murmured, “provided he also wants to.”

 

_“Do you think you’d be here, sir, if he didn’t?”_

He smiled quietly, though it held a plethora of tragedy; a complete acknowledgement of his own insufficiency, poorly furnished by the cosmic order.

 

“I suppose not.” He expelled a tired breath. “I just… I can’t be his _everything_ , Deanna. I have watched him grow exponentially, mature beyond his capacities… learn to empathise with my biological needs, and my linear opinions, but I am not his _cure_. I’m just a damned _human_ , for god’s sake, and I can only do what I believe to be best.”

 

He wrenched himself upright, stronger for his convictions, heart set.

 

“I just have to hope that’s enough.”

 

 _“It’s been enough so far,”_ Troi pointed out kindly. _“You are the wisest, most brilliant man I have ever met, my friend – if you believe this is the correct course of action, if it makes you **happy,** then I support you, sir.”_

He beamed – _that_ , surely, was the final justification of why Deanna Troi had been the best possible choice of person to establish his stance with.

“You aren’t going to try and dissuade me, then? This can’t be psychologically sensible, surely.” His tone wore indulgence, spirit lighter for a way forward – it would be far from simple, and it remained to be seen whether it would work at all… but it was a plan nevertheless, and the quietly ordered virtues he held within tinkled a percussive melody at finally being adhered to.

 

 _“I have never lied to you, Captain, and I don’t intend to start now,”_ the half-Betazoid began gently. _“It isn’t remotely sensible – but if I’ve learned anything from my time under your command, it’s that your judgment is very rarely incorrect. Just know, Jean-Luc, that if it goes poorly, if it affects your Captaincy, however far along the line… I will be here to help you, however I can.”_

Warmth blossomed from within, so different than that he felt for Q, but no less appreciated or intense – whatever he had accomplished to earn such unwavering loyalty, he was thoroughly glad he had done it.

 

“ _Thank_ _you_ , Counsellor.”

 

He tapped the badge, tears in his gaze as he surveyed the courtyard; he’d missed several rounds, as the turquoise humanoid had taken centre stage once more. She valiantly cut through her competent opponent’s attacks, dark locks fanning rapidly behind her as she twirled to counter. He had barely blinked before her inferior was held at swordpoint, her grin one of easy triumph to a chorus of generous applause.

 

He laughed softly – there was absolutely no chance he could have stood up to her. As fortunate as he was, even _he_ couldn’t win them all.

 

There was only one challenge he had designs on, and though he wouldn’t consider himself victorious should he manage it, it nevertheless meant absolutely _everything_.

 

_I promised that I wouldn’t give up on you, Q, and I have no wish to start now._

He took a deep, expansive breath, steadying his very soul for the gambit that lay ahead.

 

“You can come back, now,” he announced softly. He stared at the champion’s cup being presented amongst the extensive foliage, at the alien’s delight in her accomplishment, and hoped desperately that his evening would be just as subjectively wonderful.

 

* * *

 

 

Static buzzed across quadrants at Picard’s summons; it took Q every particle of restraint he had ever retained to not peek into his mind, to drag him away from the comfort of ignorance. He cast a frantic glance in the general direction of the human he so adored, terror ricocheting fireworks haphazardly along his every gaseous fibre.

 

He inhaled sharply, each digit quivering with the potency of hope, the need to reunite, the wholehearted apprehension of doing so; ramming down his every desire to remain, he vanished with the quietest of snaps he could recall.

 

It was, perhaps, symbolic that he spared not a moment’s gaze at his death trap before he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, *you've* got something in your eye - I'm fine, honestly...
> 
> Also, I need to add a giant thank you to my friend MidwinterSun, both for maintaining my sanity during endless edits of this, and for ironing out the papery cracks in some of Data's dialogue. :)
> 
> Next up: Our *actual* final chapter, wherein a human finally, *properly* acknowledges what he’s letting himself in for, and a god may just finally allow himself to be happy…


End file.
